Consequences of Revelation
by Red Mage 04
Summary: In the wake of the escape from Requiem, Captain Lasky decides that the S-IV's need a little more training, and arranges for an old friend to come on board the Infinity. Little does he realize the far reaching consequences that this will have for himself, his crew, and the rest of the UNSC.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, everyone. Redmage04/Aratech here. Just decided that since I posted this at spacebattles, I should probably put it up here as well. Those of you familiar with my other Halo story, Finishing the Fight, might have noticed the "remarks" I had to say about the Spartan Ops of Halo 4, and the my opinion about the franchise as a whole of late, and this is sort of a build of off that. It is _not_ in any way related to Finishing the Fight, I must make that clear, in order to avoid confusion. There may be other chapters that follow this one. Not sure just yet. However, I hope that this story is enjoyable to you all (as I realize that it might be controversial, to put it mildly), and that it is worth your time.

Thank you all, and have a good day.

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**Consequences of Revelation**

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Captain Tom Lasky walked slowly down the halls of the UNSCS _Infinity_, his hands clasped behind his back, trying to ignore the doubts and questions that plagued his mind. A quartet of ODSTs escorted him as he made his way towards the primary hangar bay of the most powerful ship in Humanity's arsenal.

It had been one week since the _Infinity_ had escaped Requiem, when they'd avoided being caught in a super-nova by the skin of their teeth. The Captain's frown deepened as he stepped up to a turbo lift and summoned it. So much knowledge, so much Forerunner technology… all gone. Gone because Jul 'Mdama didn't want to run the risk of Humanity finding out more about the secrets of the Didact. At least he wouldn't have to worry about a Knight teleporting onto his bridge anymore, he thought, looking over the new, armored uniform that he was wearing. That was to say nothing else of what had gone wrong during the two months that they'd been stationed there.

The lift doors opened and he stepped through. A minute later, it was rocketing downwards. Two months on Requiem had demonstrated several things to the UNSC, though, and one of those was that for all their physical augmentations and training, the model-four Spartans were having some difficulty carrying out their work. Two months against an enemy where the UNSC held most of the cards, and they'd failed to make a meaningful dent in the Storm. Oh, sure there had been victories here and there. Successful raids, smash and grabs, killing thousands of Loyalists and pulling off a few assassinations… but they'd failed to give Jul and his fanatics any meaningful setbacks.

Hence his trip to the hangars. After nearly eight months, Lasky was finally going to get to see an old friend again. He'd pulled a few strings with High Command, called in a couple of favors with Lord Hood, and Palmer's S-IV's were finally going to get the training instructors they'd needed for so long.

There was a loud "ding" and the lift came to a halt. Moments later the doors opened and Lasky stepped out onto the primary hangar bay of the _Infinity. _It was a beehive of activity. Broadswords, Longswords, and Pelicans were streaming in and out of hangars; cargo carriers and power-loaders were moving armaments and supplies around, while personnel transports were hastily zipping about. Several fireteams and other personnel saluted as he moved past them, and Captain Lasky returned the gestures as he moved further inwards. He could see a Pelican landing about a hundred meters away. He caught the serial number on it: CT-4589. That was the one he was looking for, and he gestured for his escort to move along with him.

The Pelican landed and its engines hummed as the pilot shut them down. There was a hiss as the rear cargo door opened and the ramp descended. Out of the depths of the bird came a few more ODSTs and a green armored giant, towering over the others around him. Lasky let a smile come to his face as he saluted.

"Welcome aboard, Master Chief," he said.

The Spartan-II returned the gesture, his hand and arm nothing but a blur. It always amazed Lasky how they could move so fluidly, so fast. He remembered the first time he saw the Chief in action, moving so quickly his eyes couldn't even follow the man.

"Thank you, Sir." 117 dropped into a parade rest for a moment, his visor drifting down for a moment. Lasky could tell that the Chief was staring at his less-than-standard uniform.

"Started to get in the habit of wearing this after an incident on Requiem," he said with a shrug. "Figured if any more Prometheans managed to get onboard, I might as well not give them a free shot at decapitating CIC."

The Spartan nodded. "Lord Hood informed me that there had been a few incursions and actual boarding actions on the _Infinity_."

"That's part of the reason that I requested that Hood transfer you and the rest of Blue Team back here," Lasky said as he turned and started to walk back towards the lift. The Spartan fell in line next to him, and the Captain noticed that there had been some further changes and modifications to his armor since the last time he'd saw the cyborg. More of the CNT layer was covered, particularly in the chest and abdomen regions. He wondered if that was Virgil's work. The Engineer had been hard at work the past few months, aiding the UNSC's technology specialists in developing all types of advancements in weaponry, armor, and power generation. "While we were able to successfully repel the Storm operatives and their Promethean units, it took a hell of a lot longer than it should have. I don't think the S-IV's have all the training they need."

"I see," the Chief said as they reached the lift. "Are we going to be supplementing their training strictly in boarding and count-boarding tactics, or do you feel their troubles go beyond simply that?"

"The latter, unfortunately," Lasky's frown returned to his face as the doors closed behind them. "Fireteam Crimson's performance was outstanding, and they're probably going to be working with you and Blue Team as trainers... but aside from that." He sighed and shook his head. "We lost too many. _Far_ too many."

The Spartan nodded his head. He could understand Lasky's concern. He'd taken the time that he, Kelly, Linda, and Fred were out securing colony worlds against Covenant Loyalists to read up on the S-IV project. The augmentations that had crippled half his brothers and sisters were a thing of the past, replaced by newer and safer methods. The S-IV's didn't quite seem to have the fantastic reflexes that his "kind" did, or the ceramic bone grafts, but he supposed it was better than having to worry about half of a group "washing out" due to complications that left them crippled for life, or having such a narrow genetic compatibility range that only about one in a hundred thousand people were compatible with them, as had been the case with the Model-III's. However, the Gen-II Mjolnir armor was still rather prohibitively expensive, and the UNSC could equip an entire ODST platoon for the cost of one Spartan-IV. That meant that if the Spartan projects were to continue, they would have to be able to prove to ONI, Hood, and the politicians that such high cost super-soldiers were a worthwhile investment.

His briefing on the way over indicated that over the course of the two months spent on Requiem, seventeen S-IV's had been killed, nearly ten percent of the total amount deployed. Lasky's intent was clear to the Chief: that number had to be brought down by any means necessary.

"When do we begin?"

"First thing tomorrow, oh-five-thirty," Lasky said as the lift rocketed back up to the center of the ship, where the command bridge was. "I'm supposed to help get you and the rest of Blue Team settled." He paused for a moment and ran a hand through his hair. "You're going to be observing the teams as they run through their drills, a few wargames and other dry-run ops. Once that's done, I want you and Blue Team to critique them, and show them how you'd run it." He let a half smile come to his face once again. "Think you can handle that?"

Behind his visor, the Chief frowned for a moment or two. He'd always been an operator, never an actual teacher. But a Spartan was intelligent and adaptable to any situation. He supposed he owed it to the S-IV's to give it a try. With luck, he'd do CPO Mendez proud.

"Yes, Captain," he said with a nod of his head as the turbolift came to a halt, and they stepped out onto the command deck level. "We'll make sure that the next time Infinity's Spartans meet 'Mdama, they'll be ready."

"Good," Lasky took a left turn when they reached a crossroad, heading for his ready room. "I don't want a repeat of what happened last time. We had a clear shot at the bastard, and we missed both it and…" he paused for a moment, his frown returning with a vengeance and a sudden bitter taste filling his mouth. "And our secondary target…"

"Secondary target, sir?" the Chief asked, looking down at him. Lasky looked up at the golden, polarized visor, staring at its minute hexagonal patterns. There seemed to be a note of confusion in his voice, and the Captain sighed.

She was a war criminal, a woman who'd performed experiments that most would find at best ethically dubious… but the idea of trying to assassinate a member of the UNSC still didn't sit well with him. Especially given her actions during the operation. They still had the artifact that Halsey had desperately thrown to Spartan Thorn before Palmer had put a bullet through her.

"After the first incident with the Forerunner Artifact, Doctor Catherine Halsey was brought onboard Infinity to study it," he said. "There was a series of incidents after that, one thing leading to another… but the long and the short of it, Chief, is that she got captured by Prometheans during their boarding incident and Admiral Osman gave orders for Commander Palmer to assassinate her." He shook his head and waved his hand about, as though he himself were having difficulty wrapping his mind around everything that had transpired, while the words just tumbled out of his mouth. "I tried to call it off, sent Majestic to grab her before Palmer could arrive and we _all_ ultimately failed but—"

Whatever he had been about to say died on his lips as he realized the Master Chief had stopped in his tracks. Lasky arched an eyebrow and looked back over his shoulder at the Mjolnir-clad giant. There was something different about his body language right now, he noticed… the Chief… well, he almost looked like a Brute Chieftain had just walloped him with a gravity hammer. The Captain blinked and that look was gone, replaced by something different… something alien, something that made the hairs on the back of Lasky's neck stand up.

"What?"

The word was spoken softly, and there was a worrying lack of inflection in the Chief's normally iron-hard voice.

"Master Chief?" Lasky asked, while his ODST escort exchanged glances. The Spartan took a couple steps forward and leaned down a bit, his visor just a few inches away from Lasky's face.

"What did you just say?" The Spartan cocked his head to the side just slightly. Lasky noted his stance, legs slightly spread, right fist tightened just a bit. He reminded the captain of a predator, ready to pounce. "_What_ did Admiral Osman order?"

"She gave an order for Commander Palmer to terminate Doctor Halsey, on grounds of treason." Lasky said, looking up into his own reflection on that cold, emotionless visor. The Chief did nothing for a few seconds, simply stood there, and Lasky wasn't quite certain what it was that he felt, deep down. It wasn't fear… wasn't intimidation… but he couldn't deny he was a little bit anxious. He remembered the first time he saw the Chief, in the aftermath of the struggle with that Sangheili Zealot. That sense of awe and spine tingling confusion as he stared at the green-armored behemoth. Yes… yes that was what this felt like.

The Spartan moved back into his previous stance in the time it took Lasky to blink. "Captain… May I speak with you in the ready room?" there was a pause and he looked around at the ODSTs. "Alone."

Lasky said nothing, but he nodded his head and started towards his ready room. It took about another fifteen seconds for them to reach it, and he felt the backs of his hands starting to grow slick with sweat, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The doors hissed open as he walked through, the Chief marching in behind him. Lasky looked over his shoulder at the super-soldier. That tension to his stance was still there as he made his way past the Captain of the Infinity and over towards the desk. The ODSTs started to come in after him, but Lasky held up a hand.

"Leave us," he said, looking over to the sergeant.

"But…" the man said.

"I'll be fine, Sergeant Kowalski," Lasky said with a nod of his head. "I need to speak with the Master Chief in private. Roland's here if I need anything. Just wait outside the door."

Sergeant Kowalski nodded his head, and retreated back through the doorway. Lasky turned around as Roland popped up on one of the holotanks. "I think my ears are burning," the A.I. said, a smirk on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at the Master Chief. The smirk faltered a bit as he "looked" at the Spartan, and Lasky knew that he'd probably detected any one of a hundred things about the Spartan that might have put him on edge. Neural activity scans, heart rate, breathing.

The Captain and the cyborg stood where they were for a moment or two longer, and Lasky made his way to his executive chair, while the Spartan sat down across the desk from him. The chair groaned softly in protest as it was suddenly subjected to the weight of four hundred and fifty kilograms of power armor and augmented human.

"Details. Now, Captain." 117 said as he leaned forward.

Roland gave them both a look, and Lasky nodded his head. Then the words just started to come out. The knowledge that he'd been given prior to Halsey coming on board, in order to give him "a full understanding of what he was dealing with." About the ONI operation where Halsey had been black-bagged. Her subsequent detainment. Her being brought onboard the Infinity after it had nearly been destroyed by an unknown Forerunner artifact. The communication that she'd had with what they'd later discovered was Jul 'Mdama himself, trying to extract information from him without revealing that she'd been onto his little game. Her capture by Promethean units, and Admiral Osman's subsequent order to "eliminate" the problem she potentially represented.

He wondered why he was telling all of this to the Spartan. It was highly classified, to put it mildly. There was something that… compelled him. He wondered for a moment if it was the need to "confess" his involvement? His inability to stop Palmer from carrying out an order that he viewed as unjust? But no. Ultimately it was it a sense of debt that he felt towards the man across from him, the man that had saved his life on no less than three occasions. That man, who had not just saved him but humanity, should know what they'd tried to do to the woman who had kidnapped him and spirited him away from his family and transformed him into a living weapon

The Master Chief remained silent all the while, as unreadable as stone. Lasky leaned back in his chair and sighed softly, placing two fingers against his forehead and rubbing his left temple.

"I know…" he said, swallowing softly and then sighing. "I know she did a lot of bad things… I know about what she did to you and the other Spartan-IIs… how you have to feel about that but, even then, I don't think we had the right to try and… murder her like that…"

"How I have to feel?" It took Lasky a moment to realize that the Chief had actually spoken, and he looked up at the other man. He'd leaned forward a couple more centimeters, and had cocked his head to the side once more.

"About her taking you from your families… the augmentations and experiments, how she… transformed you into killing machines… how you have to hate her for that."

The Master Chief lapsed into silence once again, leaning back in his chair a bit. Lasky's digital watch beeped as it let him know that the time was currently 15:00 hours, shipboard time. "Captain… I have made numerous requests since my return to meet with Doctor Halsey. They have all been denied." Another pause, and he noticed the Spartan's left hand twitch just slightly. "I have been told that she was indisposed, or that her schedule would not allow for any time for her to visit. I was about to appeal to Lord Hood directly."

Lasky's face scrunched up in confusion. What was going on here? Why would he go to that much trouble to try and see the Doctor? For that matter, why the hell had ONI lied to him? "Why?"

The helmet turned to face him, and Lasky swore he could feel those eyes, hidden though they were, _boring_ into his soul. He hadn't forgotten the eyes of 104 and 087 when they'd removed their helmets, back at the academy after rescuing him, Sullivan, and April all those years ago. The power behind that strange, almost alien gaze.

"Because Captain… I wanted to see how my _mother_ was doing."

Lasky realized after a moment that his jaw had fallen open and that his eyes had bulged outwards. He looked over to Roland, and the A.I. had a similar look of shock upon his holographic face.

"Mother?" Lasky shook his head. Whatever he'd been expecting… this certainly wasn't it.

"Lasky… I… Captain, that's what I see her as. What we _all_ saw her as." For a moment there was silence, and Lasky privately wondered if the man across from him wasn't suffering from the universe's largest case of Stockholm Syndrome.

The Spartan took a breath. "She was the one who raised us, educated us, helped mold us into what we were. She was our mother, Chief Mendez our father. Together, they made us into humanity's sword and shield." He gestured to his breastplate. "She forged our armor… and gave me the greatest gift of all."

"What was that?" Roland asked.

"Cortana," he said, looking over at the A.I. "Cortana was created from a flash-clone of Doctor Halsey's brain." He shook his head. "We… we were actually trying to get back to Earth so that Halsey might be able to somehow fix her. If anyone could have cured Cortana of her rampancy, it would have been her." There was another pause, and he looked back up at the Captain. "You said that Palmer was the one who carried out the Admiral's order?"

"Yes. It was deemed that… Doctor Halsey was too great a risk, the information that she might have handed over to Jul…"

"Did she actually _share_ any classified information with 'Mdama?"

"That's a negative, at least as far as we know," Roland said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Halsey was playing a risky game, a _damn_ risky one… but she didn't actually give anything away." He frowned. "Of course, she violated quite a few protocols when she freaking _hijacked_ me, and—"

"Roland…" Lasky said.

"What? You think I liked having my free will stripped away from me? I mean, from your perspective it was only a few minutes, but do you have any idea how long that is for an A.I.? I literally spent _lifetimes_ trapped inside of my own programming!"

"Can you show me?" the Master Chief spoke up suddenly. "Commander Palmer's camera feed?"

Lasky paused for a moment. That information wasn't exactly the kind of stuff he was supposed to be handing out freely. But… the cat was already out of the proverbial bag, and if he didn't show it, well, S-II's were supposed to be master hackers in their own right, experts at decryption and getting into things that they weren't supposed to. It was entirely possible that if he refused that the Chief could get his hands on the feed anyway. The man across from him was an enigma, but Lasky prided himself on being good at reading people. The subtle twitches and inflections in the Spartan's voice. The Chief was like a caldera at the moment, and he suspected that the longer that he kept this from him, the worse the eventual "eruption" might be.

Lasky nodded his head and turned to Roland. "Show him."

"You realize you're breaking at least seventeen ONI regulations by doing this. The Admiral could well have you relieved of duty." Roland said, and to Lasky's surprise, the usual snarky tone was gone from the A.I.'s voice. There was genuine concern there.

"I've already broken about that many, and more than enough to give the Admiral a legitimate excuse to relieve me of command if she decides to take action," Lasky said, leaning back in his chair and tapping his fingers together. "Besides, Roland… there's three of us here. And something tells me that the Chief and I aren't exactly about to go talking about this…" he arched an eyebrow. Roland simply sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"Alright, but if they deactivate me for this, I swear, my last act will be to purge you from the pension database," he said, pointing a finger at the Captain before making a gesture with his right hand. The video feed from Palmer's mission started up, and the Chief watched in rapt silence.

Within his helmet, the Master Chief could hear his own breathing, echoing around inside the tight confines of the armor. His initial confusion over Palmer's unusual choice of armaments and lack of backup faded into the recesses of his mind as he watched Lasky try and fail to stop her, and then observed her deploy planet-side. Blessed by Spartan time, he watched as it the feed seemed to stretch on and on, with the haunting realization that every step was bringing this woman closer and closer to Doctor Halsey… and there was nothing that he could do to stop it. He'd often heard the phrase "like watching a grav-train wreck" from Marines and other UNSC personnel. A phrase used to describe something that was utterly horrific and terrifying, yet some unseen force compelled one to keep watching, despite knowing what the result would be. For the first time, he truly understood what that meant. He was aware of a cold sweat that had broken out on his skin as he watched the Commander rush into Jul's compound, using the distraction that Majestic Team had created.

She made her way through the facility, cutting down a couple of surprised rear-guard Elites. Then she rounded the corner. He saw a Spartan in blue, battle-damaged armored desperately cutting down Sangheili warriors. He saw Jul… and he saw _her._ Halsey was fighting, struggling against Jul, holding what appeared to be an artifact of some kind, trying to keep it out of the grasp of the "Didact's Hand". Jul seemed to have another such artifact in his other hand, and roared in his native tongue, summoning Promethean Knights into the battle.

"Thorn! The Key!" she screamed, throwing the artifact towards the Spartan.

Palmer fired half of a magazine into an Elite that had already had its shields stripped, blowing the alien in half, before leaning slightly to the side, and firing a round from her other pistol. Time seemed to stop for the Master Chief entirely as he heard Halsey's agony-filled scream and watched the blood blossom out of her shoulder, her left arm hanging on by only a few bare tendons and scraps of meat.

"Freeze-frame!" he heard himself bark. He distantly heard Lasky's desk groan in protest where his left hand gripped it fiercely. The metal warped and dented as he dug his fingers into it, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he found himself looking at his mother's image. He could see the pain written across her face, her eyes open wide, pupils dilated. She'd gotten immensely lucky, he found himself distantly thinking. Palmer's SAP-HE round had been a dud, and had failed to explode after impact. That was the only reason she hadn't been killed instantly.

He looked into her eyes… he saw the pain… the realization… and something else… a sense of profound shock and betrayal. His hand actually shook as he reached up towards the screen and touched the face of the aging scientist. He killed his external speakers for a few seconds. "I'm…. I'm sorry…" he whispered, knowing that no one could hear the words but himself. There was an ache in his chest, his voice cracking just a bit. He took a moment, took a deep breath, swallowed the sense of failure that coursed through him, forced it down, deep inside of his gut, and let out one more breath. His voice was metallic and neutral when he turned his speakers back on. "Resume."

Roland did as instructed, and the remainder of the battle played out. Jul absconded in moments, rushing towards one of the Prometheans with Halsey and the other artifact in his arms. The Sangheili's shields flickering as Palmer fired off the remainder of her pistol magazines into the fleeing cult leader, while the one called Thorn hastily stowed the artifact and fell back before the fusillade of hard-light and energy fire that came from the Knights. A moment later Jul and Halsey were both gone, teleported away by the Knight Commander.

The Master Chief sat back down as the rest of the feed played out, watching the argument between the Commander and Majestic. He could hear the self-righteousness in Palmer's voice as she defended her actions, and the apparent confusion between Majestic and herself before they both realized that they'd been sent into action with _very_ different objectives in mind. He could feel his pulse elevating, a red mist forming at the edge of his vision as the feed ended. 117's right hand crumpled the armrest of his chair into a twisted wreck of metal and composites as he stood back up.

"Chief…" Lasky spoke up, reaching out towards him.

The Captain knew that it might not be the wisest course of action, a worst case scenario could result in him pulling back a stump, but watching the man's reaction, watching that stoic exterior break, however slightly… His hand came to rest a few millimeters above the Spartan's left shoulder, buffeted by the shields of the armor.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered.

The Spartan said nothing, but nodded his head and stared down at his own hands. The fingers curled inwards slightly. Lasky chewed on his lip for a moment. He understood how the cyborg must have felt. He remembered Chyler lying in his arms when they were at the academy… her eyes wide with agony as the massive needle rifle round lay in her abdomen, her life fluids gushing out as it sat there, glowing like a purple spear… knowing that she was dying and there wasn't a damned thing that he could do to save her… that same feeling he'd had when he'd learned of his brother's death. And the Spartan… he'd lost a hell of a lot more. All but four of his brothers and sisters were dead, Cortana was gone, and the worlds that he'd fought and bled for glassed ruins incapable of supporting life. And now this… the knowledge that the woman that he'd considered one of the bedrocks in his life of being carted around to the very worst battlefields in the Covenant war, was gone. Even if she survived her wounds, Doctor Halsey was in Jul's hands now, and they didn't have the foggiest idea where he had gone. He'd seen men and women alike break under far less. Captain Tom Lasky stared up at that golden visor once again, and distantly wondered how the Spartan managed to keep going as he felt the Chief's gaze fall upon him.

There was a moment of silent connection between the two of them as Captain and Spartan stared at one another, and the Spartan nodded once again. "Thank you, Captain," he whispered softly. "For sharing this information with me. For being _honest_ with me."

"It's the least I can do, Chief," he chewed on his lip again. "If there's anything else that I can do for you, let me know."

117 nodded his head and looked down at his hands once again. It was then that Roland seemed to twitch and his gaze fell towards the door.

"Oh dear…" he said.

"Roland, what's wrong?" Lasky said, turning to face the A.I.

Then he heard it, piped in through the speakers on the holotank. "I don't care, Sergeant, I need to speak with the Captain, now." Palmer's voice. Lasky's eyes widened as he heard the door hissing open, and Commander Sarah Palmer stepped into the room. He started to turn around, his heart leaping into his throat. _Oh god…_ was all he could think.

"Captain, I need—"

That was as far as she got. In the time it took Lasky to turn from Roland towards Palmer, the Chief had crossed the twelve meters over towards the S-IV, grabbed her around the throat, and _slammed_ the armored woman into the wall of the room. A myriad of colorful words died on Lasky's tongue as he gazed at the scene before him. Palmer's feet dangled more than half a meter off the ground, her hands clinging to the Master Chief's right arm. Palmer was wearing her armor, but not her helmet. She had nothing to protect her against the fury of the S-II that held her in his grip. All he'd have to do was throw a single punch… no… all he'd have to do would be to _squeeze_ and he'd crush the Commander's windpipe and turn her bones into dust.

The door hissed open again and Sergeant Kowalski and his men stormed in. They stood back, looking over at Lasky, who didn't know what to tell them. Their MA6 rifles would never chew through 117's energy shield before he struck, if they could get through it at all.

The Master Chief saw red as he looked up at the woman he'd held in his grip. This was the woman that had nearly murdered his mother… no… no she might well have. A wound like that could easily have been fatal, from shock and blood loss. And even if she survived, Halsey would be at the mercy of Jul 'Mdama, avowed enemy of Humanity. Every instinct, every fiber of his being, screamed at him to _end_ the woman above him. It would be so simple. A flex of the hand, a punch to the head, or drawing his sidearm and shooting her. So easy… so tempting. Then… he thought of Halsey. Was this something that she would have wanted him to do? To throw away his life over her? No. She'd have told him that she wasn't worth it. That he was too important. His job as a protector of Humankind and all its colonies was too important. He could practically feel her hand on his free arm, wrapping around shield and armor, trying to gently talk him down, to remind him of his duty.

Not his duty to her, but to his brothers and sisters—the few that were left—to lead by example. His duty to every last man, woman, and child in the UNSC and UEG. He could imagine that subtle half-smirk, hear her voice in his head, chiding him about not being able to do that job very well if he was locked up in a military prison, now could he?

Commander Palmer eyes bulged as she stared down at the Master Chief. She'd come in, having just found out that Lasky had arraigned for the remaining Spartan-II's to transfer to Infinity and "take over" the training of the S-IV's without so much as a "by your leave." He was the Infinity's captain, but she was in charge of the ground troops. The least he could have done would have been to let her know, rather than sidelining her. The Spartan-II had moved so quickly she'd barely seen it. One moment, he'd been with Captain Lasky, an image on the briefing screen behind them. The next thing she knew, she was pinned against the wall, stars dancing in front of her eyes and a painfully tight grip around her neck. She struggled to breathe, and hung onto his arm desperately, not wanting to think about what would happen if she let go and her neck was suddenly the only thing supporting nearly four hundred kilograms of augmented muscle and power armor. For all her strength, she was as helpless as a babe before a wolf.

She looked down at the Master Chief, the Spartan that she and all of her subordinates were taught to revere. He was the ideal, the pinnacle that they were taught to emulate. The man who had fought for longer than she'd even been alive, the man who'd slaughtered the Covenant by the hundreds of thousands on Sigma Octanus, Jericho VII, Arcadia, New Bismarck, the Halos, and a hundred other planets and battlefields. The man who'd stopped the Flood, not once, not twice, but three times, and who had stopped the Didact from assimilating all of Humanity into Prometheans. A chill ran down her spine at the realization that that man had, in a single move, made her completely helpless. There was no counter that she could use, not before he struck her down. Fear crawled through her belly and she gasped for air.

Then his visor depolarized. His Mark VII helmet still covered most of his face, but she could see his eyes. They seemed to _burn_ from within, filled with hate, disgust, rage. She'd seen his face before and a few pictures of him. This was the first time that she'd ever seen anything other than a cool, almost mechanical, detachment from him. Whatever supposed sin she'd committed against the Master Chief, it had evoked a raw, seething hatred of her. For a moment, she found herself at a loss, trying frantically to think of what she could have possibly done to provoke this sort of reaction from him.

Then he spoke.

"Leader of the Spartan Corps…" he said. His voice was steady, soft, and almost tranquil. But there was a subtle inflection to his words that hinted at the emotions boiling underneath. "To be a leader like that… to have that much potential, that much promise…. And yet I am so very _disappointed_ in you, Commander."

In a single move, he released her and stepped back, letting her crash to the ground. She lay there, gasping for breath as he stormed out of the room. Kowalski and the others hastily backed out of his way, and then looked over towards their Captain. Lasky made a shooing gesture as he rushed over towards Palmer, and helped her back up to her feet. The ODSTs exchanged glances, and then obeyed. The door hissed shut once again as the Commander took a few deep breaths, and looked over towards Lasky.

"Tom… what the hell did I do?" she asked hoarsely. Then she noticed the images on the briefing screen. "You were showing him my mission?"

Lasky finished helping her up, and Sarah massaged her throat for a moment, before she made her way over towards the side of the desk. The Captain licked his lips, and let out a sigh. "Sarah… I think we _badly_ misjudged how the original Spartans saw Halsey…"

* * *

A few hours had passed since the Spartan had learned the truth of his mother's fate. He sat in a specially reinforced chair in a private briefing room. Kelly and Linda sat to his left, Fred to his right. The other three had arrived on station about two and a half hours after he had, and he had left instructions for them to meet him here. Officially, they were reviewing combat feeds from various Spartan-IV fireteams during their operations upon Requiem, in order to gain a better understanding of the areas where each team was coming up short.

And from an outside perspective, that was all that they would have appeared to have been doing. Four different POVs played out before them on a massive screen on the far wall. It was a mission feed from Fireteam Kodiak, during their operations repelling the attack on the Infinity. For the most part, the four members of Blue Team were silent, speaking up every now and then to pause the feeds and point out a particular error or flaw to the other three, followed by a jotting down of a note on a PDA to go over tomorrow morning.

However, while the quartet of S-II's indeed were taking notes and critiquing the performance of the Model IV's, there was more going on than met the eye. Inside of each of their helmets, there was a storm of winking blue, green, yellow, and red lights. There were long pulses and rapid blinks as they took advantage of their neural augmentations to multi-task, communicating in silent Morse-Code.

_I wondered why ONI kept giving us the run-around_. Fred silently remarked. _Guess we know now. _

_How do we proceed from here?_ Linda asked, before her external speakers crackled. "Freeze-frame," she gestured to the lower right screen. "Kodiak-Four, hostile Sangheili marksman exposed, chooses instead to open fire on Unggoy charge. Inefficient targeting priorities. Resume." _Do we take this to Hood? _

_We do. _117 replied. _Halsey's actions were a breach of UNSC wartime protocol, but not so severe as to warrant a summary execution. Osman went too far, and she's deprived the UNSC of a vital strategic asset in doing so. Majestic's actions demonstrate that recovery was possible, and vindicate Halsey's loyalties. _

_What about her loyalties now, though?_ Fred spoke up, before pausing the feed for a moment, jotting down where Kodiak, in their haste to reach their objective, failed to secure a dropped Jackhammer rocket launcher. _Think about it. Halsey, if she's alive, has no way of knowing that Majestic Team wasn't also there to put a bullet in her. Palmer and Osman have left her nowhere to go but straight to 'Mdama, even if he _doesn't_ torture her to death. _

_I concur. _117 flashed. _And that makes the situation extremely complicated. We know the Storm have some Forerunner technology in their strongholds. We just don't know how much. The Admiral's potentially handed the enemy the best mind in the galaxy when it comes to figuring out how to turn that technology back on. 'Mdama also apparently got the other half of that artifact, whatever it is. Halsey mentioned it was the Key… but to what._

_Nothing good if Jul figures out how to use it without the need for the other half._ Kelly said. Her flashes were almost too short and fast for the others to pick up what she was saying. No doubt, the woman was remembering her critical injuries on Reach, injuries that would have been fatal of not for her "mother's" emergency surgery. She was taking this a hell of a lot harder than the others were. _What do we do? _

_For the moment, we proceed with our orders. _The Master Chief responded, before his eyes fell on the scene on the wall. A massive corridor near one of the armories of Infinity, swarming with scores of Loyalists. "Hold frame. Magnify on emergency bulkhead controls. No friendlies in the immediate vicinity. Opportunity to seal section and have A.I. Roland vent the room to terminate Storm hostiles missed." _As soon as possible, I'll request an in-person meeting with Hood for clarification with regards to S-IV training milestones and the possibility of getting them access to some of the prototype particle beam and laser weaponry in the Castle Facility. Once that happens, I share my recording of the information with him, and we move from there._

_Understood. _The other three flashed.

_In the meanwhile, say nothing, trust no one, and assume that Osman's like every other ONI CIC and monitors every radio signal, email, or FTL comm. message and data package gets on or off this ship. _

_What about Lasky? _Kelly asked. She sent four yellow flashes in rapid succession at the end of the statement, indicating confusion.

_Lasky's an ally, but we keep his involvement in this minimal. He took a risk sharing this with us. There's no guarantee Palmer won't tell Osman about our incident. If she suspects that any of us are probing for more information, there could be consequences for him. _

_You really think she'd do that? _Kelly tapped a foot against the floor a couple of times as she "spoke."

_Colonel Ackerson tried to have me murdered in cold blood during the Mark V trial runs because we were outperforming his ODST divisions and depriving him of both budget funds and influence. This information is potentially career ending for Osman… or worse. Do not underestimate the lengths she'll go to keep it under wraps. _

Kelly "said" nothing, merely flashed a green light to state an affirmative, before calling out another critique of Kodiak Team.

The Chief leaned forward slightly, his mind on both the combat feed, and trying to contemplate all the myriad of ways this situation could end. The next few days, until he could get that meeting with Hood… were going to be tense. His eyes narrowed behind his visor. One thing was for certain. There would be consequences for this.

* * *

-00-

* * *

Whelp, hope that was okay, and not too… ranty, I guess? For lack of a better way of putting it. That said, thank you all for taking the time to read the story. Feedback is always appreciated, especially constructive criticism.

Take care, everyone, and until next time, stay safe.


	2. Chapter 2: Evaluations

Hello again, everyone. Been busy lately, but did manage to get this chapter up and running. Probably marks the halfway point of the story, I think. Hopefully it'll be decent. I'll admit, this chapter was difficult. The Chief doesn't exactly talk too much "out loud", and thus trying to envision him giving a sort of orientation type talk and whatnot was a bit of a challenge. Still, with luck, I pulled it off.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, for good or ill. I appreciate you taking the time to read my story.

That being said, here's Chapter Two.

* * *

**Consequences of Revelation**

* * *

**Chapter Two: Evaluations.**

The Master Chief stood at the entrance to the massive holographic training deck that lay in the bowels the UNSC _Infinity_, hands clasped behind his back, legs slightly spread as he waited for the first of the Spartan-IV's start to come in. Behind his visor, his eyes drifted around the environment, which was currently set up to resemble the "playground" where he'd first begun training back in 2517, along with a few bunkers and craggy hills around them, forming a sort of cul-de-sac. Privately, this sort of technology amazed him. The room worked by using a combination of computer algorithms, real-time data feed, environmental controls, and hard-light technologies to allow for on the fly alterations and the creation of a living battlefield that could change at a moment's notice.

He found it fascinating, and in a way, he envied the Model-IV's. To have this sort of technology at their disposal for their training… the possibilities it represented. They could simulate any battlefield, any condition, any enemy that Humanity knew of (and given how creative Smart A.I.s were, probably a few they hadn't), all without leaving their ship. Certainly efficient, he thought, looking back over his shoulder. There was a trio of images behind him, holographic projections coming up behind him. On display were the face of two men and one woman, with their names underneath them: Sergeant Anthony Daniels. Corporal Bishop Jones. Sergeant Amy Fitzgerald.

The three had fallen in the opening stages of the incursion on the Infinity. A fourth Spartan, Corporal Michal Gregory, had also fallen, but the Chief had kept him absent for a reason. There was to be a lesson behind the deaths of these three, one that displaying Gregory's face and name would not help towards.

He sighed and resisted the urge to shake his head as the clock on his internal HUD changed to read oh-five-twenty hours. In a way, the Spartan-IV's were almost alien to him and the rest of his family. They weren't like himself, or Kelly or Linda or Fred. Nor were they like Gamma and Delta company, the remains of Kurt's Spartan-III project. They weren't raised up from small children, weren't "indoctrinated" like he and the III's were, and _none_ of them had the decades of active combat experience that he and his remaining brother and sisters had. They were taken from high scoring and high performing Marine, Army, ODST, and Naval personnel. Some were veterans, while others had been recruited straight out of basic training. They were ordinary individuals given extraordinary abilities and weaponry. Nothing more, nothing less. A part of him wondered if that was one reason why they didn't seem as heavily augmented as the S-II's and S-III's.; because the Model-IV's weren't "programmed" with absolute loyalty to the UNSC. If that was the case, it made one other anomaly that he and his team had noticed all the more stark. Still, there would be time for that later. For now, he and the other members of Blue Team had training to do, starting with breaking a very nasty habit that some of the S-IV's, their commander included, seemed to have picked up.

He had to admit, a part of him was looking forward to this. It gave him a break from being constantly poked and prodded by the UNSC's physiologists and biologists, all of whom were eager to understand the fundamental changes that the Librarian had made to him on Requiem. The tests were never painful, but they did get tedious, and so far had only yielded what he could have already told them: that he had noticed an increase in his strength, speed, and stamina, and a decrease in his need for sleep and the rate at which his overall fatigue would build up; that and a curious increase in some of his subconscious brainwave activities, the effect of which were still as-of-yet unknown.

His internal clock ticked to oh-five-twenty-three, the doors at the far end of the training deck hissed open. John looked over to them, his mark-seven binoculars zooming in on them automatically. He took note of the matte-black armor, so-called "warrior" model helmets, and the overall plain and uncustomized look of the armor and nodded his head. Fireteam Crimson was on station. That was hardly surprising, but John was inwardly glad that they'd been the first to arrive. It gave him a chance to observe them up close, through something other than a helmet feed. He watched how they moved, the fluidity of their actions, how they were almost robotically in step with one another, and (outwardly at least) as silent as death itself.

The four of them moved as though they were psychically linked to one another, though he supposed they could have been communicating in Morse-Code like he and the rest of Blue Team had been yesterday. They came to a stop some ten paces away and saluted him. There was a deliberation to their movements, a kind of restrained energy, 117 thought to himself. He returned the gesture a moment later.

"At ease, Crimson," he said.

As one, they assumed a parade-rest stance. He noticed the head of Crimson-Lead, a Petty-Officer by the name of Teresa Richards, move a fraction of a centimeter to the right, towards the holograms that were floating in the air. The Master Chief thought he caught a subtle nod of the head from the woman as well, but he wasn't sure. Still, if they understood the significance of the pictures, so much the better. There were one-hundred and eighty-three surviving S-IV's on the Infinity, and from the briefing that Lasky had given him, another two-hundred that would be bolstering those ranks in about four weeks. Blue Team was going to have their hands full with so many, and they were going to need additional helpers from among the S-IV's themselves if they hoped to make meaningful progress.

Over the next seven minutes, the remaining S-IV teams trickled in. They'd all been given yesterday off as a chance to rest up for an early start today, and judging by how alert some were, some had clearly spent more time resting than others. Still, at least they were all sober. Some of them were cracking jokes and whispering to one another, laughing and fraternizing in a way that was far more in common with off duty marines he'd encountered than what he'd come to consider "Spartans." He had to remind himself that the differences between himself and the S-IV's weren't just in the physical augmentations and combat training; there was a difference in mentality and psychology as well. Perhaps a part of it was, as he'd heard a few people whisper behind his back, when they thought his suit's audio sensors couldn't hear them, that he was just a brainwashed child-soldier. Perhaps it was decades of war on the harshest battlefields where the average survival time of an ordinary soldier was often less than fifteen minutes. Perhaps it was any one of a hundred other things. But the fact remained, that most of these people were _not_ like him and Blue Team. Those differences, for good or ill, would have to be taken into account with their training.

117 noticed Commander Palmer standing towards the rear of the formation, with Spartans Miller, Dalton, and some of the other "Handlers" as they'd come to be called. Augmented non-combat personnel who kept everything running smoothly behind the scenes. He distantly wondered why they used Spartans for that, as it seemed as though an A.I. would be the ideal choice. He logged that thought in the back of his mind as his attention focused on Palmer. She was wearing her helmet today, and he couldn't help but notice that she seemed to flinch slightly when he looked in her direction. Still, the helmet seemed to indicate that she was perhaps capable of learning. That was good. The Commander had potential, a _lot_ of potential, she just needed some polishing. At lot of polishing if things did not go well. He looked at the clock on his HUD, and licked his lips. It was time to begin.

"Attention!" he barked. There was the sound of hundreds of armored boots slamming against the deck, hands flying up to salute. He waited a moment. "At ease, Spartans." He'd rehearsed this speech a hundred times in his head since he'd woken up this morning, but he still found himself oddly nervous. As Cortana would have said it, he didn't really "do" speeches. For a moment, he wished Sergeant Johnson was still here. The man always did know just what to say, it seemed.

"Most of you think you know why you're here," he said, looking from one end of the large formation in front of him and slowly letting his gaze drift across it. "You believe you are here because Captain Lasky doesn't feel that you are performing within the parameters that are expected for the pinnacle of the UNSC's Special Forces." He paused. "You are right. Captain Lasky is right. War is more than just tactics and strategy. It is logistics, and economics, and politics, and the fact is that the UNSC has invested the resources of fifty Orbital Drop Shock-Troopers… over one_ thousand_ standard Marine, Army, or other UNSC front line combat personnel in each and every one of you. And those resources are wasted when one of you dies needlessly."

He paused, and allowed that to sink in. A few of the S-IV's shifted, while the fifty-one that were not wearing their helmets ran the gauntlet of emotions from stoic to confused. He mentally sighed. An understanding of large-scale logistical implications might be in order for some of them, it seemed, and he made a mental note to perhaps incorporate a historical lesson on what happened when a military power became overly reliant on complex, high-cost "wonder-weapons" that didn't pan out.

"What this means is that in order for the UNSC to justify spending so many resources on you, that you, as Spartans, must be worth that level of resource commitment. You must accomplish goals that no one else can, execute missions where all others would fail." He paused again. "Captain Lasky, Admiral Hood, and myself are all in agreement. Your training must be enhanced. Requiem should have been a wakeup call for many of you. Your enemy is intelligent and cunning. Just because he is a religious fanatic does not make him any less dangerous."

"The first thing that needs to be done is to increase your survivability in combat. And that begins by correcting an oversight that a number of you suffer from. More specifically, I and the other members of Blue Team find it alarming that some of you seem to have an aversion towards wearing your helmets when on-duty." His eyes settled on the Spartans who were guilty of that "crime", specifically upon fireteam Majestic, whose entire five person crew was currently lacking any form of head protection. "I do not know how this… unusual habit started, or why your superiors have not corrected it before now. Your helmet is part of your uniform, and you _will_ start wearing it at all times."

"We wear the damn things when we're on our ops," he heard someone whisper. His head jerked over towards the source of the voice, settling on Corporal Hoya, one of Majestic's crew. The man had a reputation for being hot-headed, almost reckless in battle. Time for lesson number one, the Master Chief decided.

"Corporal Hoya," he growled, and then took a half step back and to the side, before gesturing to the three images behind him, "what can you tell me about these three individuals."

Hoya's face darkened, and his expression reminded him of a student who had been caught passing notes in class. "They were killed by Prometheans during the battle on the Infinity, Sir," he said.

"Correct, Corporal," the S-II gave a slight nod of his head. "But there were four Spartan casualties during that battle. Only three are here." The Master Chief's gaze shifted over to Crimson Lead and he gestured to her.

"Petty Officer Richards, what did these three have in common that Corporal Gregory did not?" he asked.

There was a pause and then the woman spoke. "Spartans Daniels, Jones, and Fitzgerald were killed by hard-light pulse shots to the head… because they were not wearing their helmets."

"Exactly," the Master Chief nodded. "Your helmet is a masterpiece of UNSC military technology. Motion tracker, VISR tech, vision modes and HUD for offensive capabilities, while defensively, it is heavily armored, projects the cranial energy shields, and protects you from radiation, vacuum, chemical, and biological attacks. None of which will help you if you do not have it on. Which the Prometheans took advantage of. As would any competent enemy." He gestured to the three fallen soldiers behind him. "This becomes even more important when you are dealing with an enemy that has demonstrated an ability to bypass the Infinity's exterior defenses and teleport directly inside. When dealing with Prometheans or other Forerunner constructs, you could come under attack at any time, at any location, with no warning whatsoever."

"I assume this habit was formed during your initial training, which will be pointed out to the relevant commanders, so that future Spartan trainees will not develop such a habit." He paused for a moment. "It had been suggested among my team that everyone here not wearing their full kit receive a stun-round to the head to try to drive the point home." He snapped his fingers, and from the rocks emerged 087, while 104 seemed to melt out of some brush towards the rear of the training deck, making their way towards where the Master Chief was standing. About three seconds later a single stun round splattered against the deck, about twelve centimeters in front of where the Chief was standing. Everyone's gaze shot up to a sight that the Spartan-II couldn't help but find amusing.

There seemed to be a pair of arms clutching at an assault rifle emerging from within the holographic sky above them. A moment later, the front of a Mark-VII helmet emerged as well. Linda was wrapped up in the girders that held up the projection units, a position that required her to hang on with her legs and dangle upside down while she aimed her MA6 rifle. Most would have never believed that a soldier could fire a rifle, let alone fire accurately, from such an awkward position. Those individuals would have been woefully ignorant of 058's uncanny marksmanship abilities. With luck, some would also take to heart the subtle lesson in thinking outside the box that Linda had just demonstrated.

"However," he said, clasping his hands behind his back as Linda dropped a rappelling line and started to move down next to him, "we eventually decided against this. You are not children. You are not raw recruits. I should not have to use the threat of physical pain and humiliation to make you understand the importance of wearing all of your armor. From now on if you are on duty and we catch you out of uniform, it will be an infraction. At first, we will restrict your R&R privileges and give you extra duties. If that fails to take, we will begin removing ranking stripes."

He waited a moment for them to let that point settle in. Then he continued, silently grateful that this part was nearly over with. It occurred to him that outside the confines of his family, or a debriefing in front of ONI, this was probably the most he'd ever spoken at any one time in his life. "Those of you who are out of uniform, return to your quarters and grab the rest of it. Those of you who came properly prepared, you will be paired up into groups of five teams, and then you will begin running war games operations. Am I understood?"

A chorus of "Yes Sirs!" rang out. Once the echo had died down, Crimson-Lead stepped forward.

"Sir, respectfully, may I ask what we'll be doing?" She asked.

"It will vary from group to group. Some will be tasked with eliminating a specific target. Others defending a critical location or VIP. Others will be tasked to take a marked objective."

"And what will our opposition be, Sir?"

The Master Chief looked over at her. "Us."

He couldn't be certain which Spartan said it, it was too soft, but 117 distinctly heard someone whisper "Oh shit."

* * *

The Master Chief marched up a corridor within the bowels of the Infinity. The rest of Blue Team was analyzing and critiquing the "evaluation runs" that the S-IV's had been put through. 117 found himself mentally reviewing the events of the morning and afternoon. The S-IV's had been drilled, again, and again, and again, each of the five team groups rotating in and out, giving them time to catch their breath and tend to any minor wounds that they might have acquired on the training deck. None of the injuries had been major, but a few muscles had been torn and a few bruises acquired. Nothing a few minutes in the medical bay couldn't fix.

All of the teams had failed to meet their objectives, whether it was raiding a target or holding a specific area or repelling a foe that was on the assault, they'd fallen short of success. Some had done better than others, though. They'd lasted longer, been more difficult to hunt down and dislodge, or managed to get further with their "VIP" before being wiped out. Crimson Team's group had managed a partial success, securing their primary objective, and much to the Master Chief's surprise, actually managing to "kill" 104 before they'd been taken out. Sure, it had taken an excessive amount of fire from a combination of Spartan Lasers, rocket launchers, and Stanchion rifles, but they'd pulled it off. Congratulations had been in order for that, and all of Blue Team had been impressed. Once the second wave of Spartan-IV's hit the Infinity in a few weeks, Crimson was definitely going to be assisting with their training.

While Crimson's performance was a bright spot in the Chief's day, overall his fears had been confirmed. The S-IV's were good, certainly better than any Marine team and most ODST squads. However, that was to be expected. Between their augmentations and their power armor, if they weren't better than the rank and file, then something was seriously wrong. But they had to be much more than just better. They had to be leaps and bounds above them, a force multiplier whose mere presence on the battlefield would cause the enemy to quiver in fear. He found himself wondering who was in charge of their training, and why it seemed so… lacking. Was it a lack of good trainers? That was a distinct possibility, given the hundreds of billions that had been killed in during the Covenant's three-decade long rampage through Human controlled space. Or was it a matter of them being rushed into service in a desperate attempt to shore up Humanity's Special Forces infantry? A case of the overseers turning them out only partially finished with the belief that they could learn more on the job and in the field?

Regardless of the origin, it was a shortcoming that absolutely had to be corrected. There was simply no other alternative. Poor training would lead to more needless deaths on the battlefield. Worse still was that it could shatter the "myth" of Spartan invincibility. A Spartan was tough, robust, and difficult to kill, but they weren't invincible, not literally. However, the skill with which he and his brothers and sisters had operated, the casualties they had inflicted over the decades of the Human-Covenant war. Their ability to sneak into seemingly any Covenant fortification, no matter how well defended, and accomplish their objective nigh-flawlessly, and the terror that that inflicted upon the few survivors they left had created a mythology and legend around them. Elites were wary of their presence, Brutes lost their usual recklessness and bravado, and the Unggoy cannon fodder-troops would go into a near-panic at the mere thought that a "Demon" might be in the area, let alone a group of them.

That kind of psychological edge, being able to put the fear of whatever god your enemy believed into them at the mere sight or rumor of you, was a valuable force-multiplier. Fear would make them sloppy, prone to panic and irrational thought and action. It made the enemy less effective, easier to kill, corral, and outwit. If the S-IV's continued to suffer casualties to the degree they had on Requiem, that critical edge would be lost. The enemy would eventually overcome their panic and their fear, and come to accept the presence of a Spartan not as some sort of unstoppable hellish juggernaut, come to claim their souls, but just another Human foe, albeit one with a higher than average degree of training and a fancy suit of armor. That would in turn snowball, making them rally faster, fight harder, and result in more casualties. That sort of feedback loop would make things significantly more difficult for him and all the other Spartans, and could strain the already overstretched spec ops divisions to their breaking point.

But the training was going to have to be more than merely bringing the operators themselves up to snuff. Their leaders were going to need some… adjusting as well.

Hence his trip, he thought, as he came to a stop outside the private quarters of Commander Sarah Palmer. The Master Chief felt the anger spike inside of him, and his fists unconsciously tightened. He grit his teeth, and willed it away, shoving it into whatever dark recesses of his mind could hold it. He had to be professional, to lead by example here, and as much as he wanted nothing to do with the woman that had tried to murder his mother, he was going to have to deal with her, whether he wanted to or not. If Palmer's bad habits couldn't be excised, people were going to get killed.

There was also the matter of his other plan. Palmer represented a potential loose end. He didn't know how often she directly reported to Admiral Osman, but he couldn't risk her reporting that he'd found out about the Admiral's little… operation, and that she and her underlings had been giving him and the rest of Blue Team the runaround. If she did, it was possible that things could get complicated, quickly. He had to try and win her over, or at the very least, direct her anger and humiliation at a different target. This was like a chess match, he thought, as he stood at the door to Palmer's quarters. Himself against his former sister-in-arms. He had to try and keep Admiral Osman in the dark about his true motives for as long as possible, at least until he was ready to close the trap and make the proverbial killing blow.

He resisted the urge to shake his head as he realized that he had to simultaneously remove some of the chinks in Palmer's psychological armor and exploit those same shortcomings to "turn" one of Osman's key instruments to his side. This wasn't exactly his forte, after all. Most of his understanding of psychology was on how to maximize someone's fear. First time for everything, it seemed.

He pressed the call button at the door, and a quiet beep echoed through the hallway. He heard movement, and knew that Palmer was looking at the camera that would show her what was on the other side of the door. A few seconds passed, and the door opened up. 117 strode inside, looking around as he did so, trying to get a feel for this environment, analyzing it as he would a battlefield.

Palmer's quarters were relatively bare, and meticulously clean. He could see a few holophotos on her desk, what appeared to be a younger version of her in an ODST uniform. He didn't see one of any family or friends, which he found rather curious. Palmer's family history was mixed, with her parents being borderline insurrectionists prior to the Covenant making their appearance, while other relatives had served as soldiers within the UNSC itself. Had that led to some sort of strain? He made a note to look deeper into that as his eyes fell on Palmer as the door hissed shut behind him. She was behind a small desk, looking over some of his reports on her Spartan-IV teams. She was dressed in her off duty attire, and he was once again reminded of the stark difference between himself and the woman in front of him.

Her eyes looked up at him, and she didn't bother to hide the glare.

"What do you want?" she said.

"To speak, privately," the S-II said, clasping his hands behind his back. "The S-IV's have some severe problems, but they're not insurmountable. I feel that there are additional issues that needed to be addressed."

"Issues with me," it was a statement, not a question, and 117 nodded his head.

"Correct, Commander," he said. "I've reviewed your history, watched security recordings of your briefings and communications with the other teams… and your operation."

"Of course you have," there was a hostile undertone to her voice, but he could hardly blame her. He wasn't exactly here by choice himself, and one reason that he had his hands clenched behind his back was that it made it easier to keep them from twitching.

There was a part of him that still screamed to finish the job that he'd "begun" yesterday, all long-term consequences be damned. He disliked the Commander on a personal level, no… he _hated_ her. He felt the hate welling up in him again, the disgust at the realization that he was sharing the same room as the woman who'd tried to outright _murder_ one of the only "normal" humans that had ever shown him anything that resembled care, and who had seen him as something other than a terminally guided living weapon to be thrown at whatever ONI deemed "the enemy."

"I'll be blunt, Commander," he said, no sense dancing around the subject, and the faster that he got this over with, the swifter the attack on this proverbial front, the sooner he could attempt repair and redirection. "You have some severe issues that are hampering operational efficiency of both yourself and the Model-IV's."

He noticed a subtle tightening of Palmer's right hand around the datapad that she was holding, and her eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch. "Really? And what might those be, Master Chief?" she stressed his rank, as though attempting to remind him of who outranked whom here.

"You're short-tempered, impulsive, and in more than one case, you've been guilty of outright dereliction of your duty, and have shown a critical lack of professionalism," he said, watching her closely, gauging her reaction. As anticipated she tightened her grip on the datapad, and its casing groaned a bit in protest as she set it down and rose up. Out of armor, she came up to about the bottom of the Master Chief's neck, and he could see her chest rising and falling as her hands tightened into fists. There was a bit of something else in her eyes as well, a bit of what might have been fear. She knew that she was in a similar situation to yesterday, and this time she didn't even have the benefit of her power armor.

"And I suppose assaulting a superior officer falls within your definition of professionalism?" she was baiting him, trying to call him on his hypocrisy. No doubt she expected an emotional reaction out of him, for him to defend himself or balk or something of that nature.

"No. It doesn't," he said with a shake of his head. It was tempting, oh so tempting, to point out that he had just watched her nearly murder his "mother." _Focus_, he reminded himself. The long game, the long game, he thought. Like any chess match, like any battle, there would be sacrifices, and in the long run, his ego was a small sacrifice indeed. "I acted inappropriately, and for that, I do apologize."

Palmer's eyes widened a fraction and she took a half step back. Clearly, she hadn't anticipated this. "I will be honest with you, Commander… I do not like you. You attempted to assassinate someone very, _very_ close to me with very little justification for your actions." He lowered his gaze a bit, staring directly into her eyes. "But on a professional level,I _have_ to work with you for the greater good of Humanity. And that means training you as well."

"Oh, so you're going to chew me out because you 'care'?" she growled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Commander, if I didn't care, I'd have berated you publically, in front of your troops." He cocked his head to the side just slightly. "But that would have been bad for morale, and it would have undermined your authority." He paused for a moment, letting that sink in. "And as much as I dislike you, Commander, I want this project to succeed. Humanity will need its elite troops in the coming years. Those who can do what no others can. The S-IV project, and its eventual successors, must succeed. And I will do everything I can to make sure that happens." He took his right hand from behind his back and pointed it at her. "I cannot be around forever. Sooner or later, Blue Team will be reassigned, and when that time comes, you and your people must be ready to live up to your full potential."

He took a breath. "And in order for the S-IV's to live up to their full potential, they must be properly led." Repetition, repetition, repetition, he reminded himself. Drive the point home. "They must have a commanding officer that is competent, level headed, capable of delegation and absolutely able to maintain a view on the larger picture." He clasped his hands behind his back once again, and looked directly at her. "You _must _become that person. And I believe you can."

"First, the matter of you deserting your post when Fireteam Crimson was looking for Sergeant Thorne," he said.

"I had a prisoner to interrogate…" Palmer's eyes narrowed once again.

"The Captain and A.I. Roland were more than capable of carrying out an interrogation of Doctor Halsey, and any Marine team would have been capable of detaining and escorting her." He paused for a moment and let out a short breath. "And even if that _was_ excusable, what was absolutely not, Commander, was you turning off your personal comm. device and making it impossible to reach you when Crimson's mission went south. I have reviewed the audio logs and comm. chatter for that day, Lieutenant Miller made numerous attempts to contact you on both your personal PDA and your comm. You did not respond. You were negligent in your duty and Crimson Team only survived because of Miller's ability to think on his feet and at times circumvent the chain of command."

He paused and let his arms drop to his side. "That _cannot_ happen again, Commander Palmer. If I find that you've pulled another stunt like that, I will file a formal complaint. And I _will_ make sure that complaint makes its way to Lord Hood's desk." He watched her carefully, he could see the fire building in her eyes once again. He'd wounded her pride, pointed out that rather egregious breach of duty, and he could see the flush to her cheeks. "Commander, you are no longer a platoon leader, directing a small group of ODSTs. You are in charge of soon to be nearly four hundred of the UNSC's most elite Special Forces. You _must_ be reachable at all times. It is nothing personal, Commander, but I will not see the lives of your Spartan-IV's wasted because their CO has turned off her communication devices and could not be reached when she was needed to make critical command decisions."

"Nothing personal… you expect me to believe that?" The bite to her voice had returned, and he could see her fist clench. He stared down at it for a fraction of a second before tilting his head slightly.

"You are free to believe whatever it is you wish to believe, Commander." 117 shrugged and shook his head slightly. She took another step back, her cheeks slightly flushed once more, and the fire in her eyes seemed to dim a bit. "Secondly, you are… extremely unprofessional to the non-combatants onboard the Infinity, as well as the Marines." There was a look on her face, slightly scrunched, eyes narrowed, confusion. "It is improper and _highly_ disrespectful to refer to the science and engineering teams as 'Eggheads', Commander Palmer. Need I remind you, Commander, that those scientists and engineers are both responsible for maintaining the armor that keeps you alive in the field _and_ reverse engineering the Forerunner technology that we've recovered? We _exist_ because of them. Our augmentations were created by them, and every bit of technology on this ship, from the MACs to the FTL drives, came from their hard work."

There was a look in the Commander's eyes, pain, it seemed like. Had he struck a nerve? Brought up some bad memories? He wasn't certain. "You are the leader of the Spartan Corps. Your opinions carry a great deal of weight with your subordinates. They listen to you and are influenced by them. You cannot simply spout off like that, or you will create a schism between the various divisions on this ship, and the UNSC does _not_ need an inter-service rivalry. The same goes for the Marines."

"Is it wrong to gripe when my Spartans can get a job done in twenty minutes that they couldn't crack in two days?" Palmer said. The woman sounded exasperated. "There isn't a Marine or ODST on board that could hold a candle to my troopers!"

The Chief's eyes narrowed behind his visor. "Sergeant Major Avery James Johnson. Captain Jacob Keyes. Commander Miranda Keyes. Sergeant Marvin Mobuto." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Ordinary individuals, performing extraordinary feats." He leaned in a bit closer. "And that's not even counting historical soldiers such as Audie Murphy or Simo Haya. Need I remind you, Commander, that the former was a human of below average physical stature turned down four times by his country's military, while the latter was a Finnish farmer. And the sad part is, Commander, that with a few notable exceptions, I would take _any_ of those individuals over your S-IV's right now." The Commander flinched backwards, as though she'd been struck.

"Then there is the matter of your 'operation' itself." He held up a single finger. "First, you needlessly risked yourself by deciding to run a solo op directly into the most heavily fortified Storm occupied area of Requiem without the benefit of operational intelligence, mission support, heavy weapons, or even armor supplement modules." He shook his head. "If Majestic hadn't been on station as well, I have little doubt, Commander, that you would have been killed. Even _I_ wouldn't have gone into that sort of situation alone unless there was no other alternative, and I certainly wouldn't have gone in so under-gunned." He let his words sink in for a moment. "As the CO of Spartan Operations _and_ the Infinity's ground forces, you cannot risk yourself like that. You have to learn to delegate and when the situation requires that you step onto the battlefield personally, you must take the time to think about what the situation calls for and what tools you will need to bring along for the job."

"I made a bad call… would think you'd be happy I screwed up," Palmer said, her temple pulsing just a bit.

She was baiting him again, and he opted to ignore it again. "Yesterday I said that I was disappointed in you, Commander Palmer. I spoke in anger then. But right now I really am disappointed because I expected _more_ from someone like yourself," he'd jabbed at her weak points, and hopefully dealt a blow that would bring her pride and ego to a more manageable level. He was by no means through with her, but he couldn't be _too_ harsh for too long. The sledgehammer blows would have to be followed by more gentle and subtle approaches. He couldn't absolutely crush her and break her. That would serve no purpose, and only deprive the UNSC and Humanity of a soldier with a great deal of potential. "I wasn't lying when I said that you had a lot of promise. You were an outstanding ODST operator, with a CSV many would envy. But you have to realize that you are not perfect. You have to acknowledge your mistakes, swallow your pride, and analyze how you made those mistakes. Then you learn from them, and do not repeat them."

"Easy for you to say," he couldn't miss the bitter poison in her words. Behind his visor, he arched an eyebrow. "What would the great 'Sierra-117', the 'Master Chief', know about making mistakes?"

His face quickly returned to a neutral expression, and was tempted to chuckle. Was that what they taught about him? That he was some flawless god of war, or the like? Still, this was an opportunity that he could use.

"More than you would think, Commander Palmer," he said, clasping his hands behind his back yet again. "When I first started my… training, one of the first things that Chief Mendez had myself and the others do was be divided into teams and set loose on an extremely complicated obstacle course." He watched her carefully. She knew the truth of his "origins", but even then, this was extremely private information. Still, perhaps she would recognize that what he was entrusting her with, and further win her over. "The teams had to reach the top of the obstacle course and ring a bell to win. Up until that point in my life I had… no use… for teammates. I did what I needed on my own, and no one helped me. I left my teammates behind to make their own way. As a direct result of my actions, my… dereliction of duty… my team came in last place. Chief Mendez and both of my teammates scolded me rather severely. And that was hardly the only mistake I made."

"What's your point?" she lowered her gaze and stared at a section of the wall.

"My point, Commander, is that I faced a choice then, the same choice that you do now. I could either swallow my pride, accept that I was wrong, that I 'had made a bad call', and learn from it, or I could choke on it, and continue along the same self-destructive path."

"You speak like it's so easy. I'm dealing with a Covenant leader that doesn't think like the other ones. I have pressure on me to get results, Master Chief; pressure from the UNSC, from ONI, from the UEG. They all want dazzling, brilliant victories to feed to the civilians and assure them that nothing like the war is ever going to happen again. Victories like the ones you pulled off." Palmer said. This time her voice was quieter, her gaze a bit more withdrawn. "They just don't seem to understand. Jul doesn't fight like any of the other Covenant I, and I'm guessing you as well, ever ran into. He's smarter, more cunning, and doesn't just rush headlong into battle. And the Prometheans…" she sighed and shook her head. "They're a whole other wild card. They can bypass our defenses, and their presences tosses a lot of tactical doctrine right out the window. Until the Eg… until the science and engineering teams figure out how to block their teleportation capabilities, they can dictate the terms of every battle." The S-II nodded his head.

"I know. And you're right. My team and I never faced anyone like Jul 'Mdama during our war with the Covenant, and the Prometheans will be a major obstacle," he said. That much was true. Jul was very unusual for a Covenant Loyalist. Willing to think outside the box, to use deception and subterfuge where others would have viewed such tactics as weak and 'dishonorable'. The Sangheili was _smart_, and the Chief wondered how many of 'Mdama's victories had been because he'd been taking advantage of the preconceived notion that all Sangheili were honor obsessed fools that would never resort to such things as attempting to subvert the most brilliant scientist in the UNSC, or allowing the enemy to capture a Forerunner artifact and then remotely using that artifact to effectively disable the enemy's super-weapon. "But they're not unbeatable. Even you've proven that, Commander."

He turned to leave, and then looked back over his shoulder at Palmer. "Oh, and one other thing, Commander." Now to lay the bait… "Your hatred for Doctor Halsey stems from your understanding of what she did to me. Did to my brothers and sisters, correct?"

"Yes." Palmer gave him a curt nod.

"Where did your information come from?" he asked.

"Admiral Osman wanted me and Captain Lasky fully briefed before she was brought onboard." The Master Chief's lips tightened behind his helmet as he digested that bit of information. He kept his tone neutral, though, his body language enigmatic.

"Ask yourself this, Commander: where did her resources come from. Where did her oversight come from? Who put her up to the task?" he said, and then turned back towards the door. "Just something you and Roland might want to look into when you have the time."

* * *

The Master Chief looked over towards 058 as he entered their own private quarters. As it had been yesterday, a storm of winking lights filled up his HUD.

_Finish your chat with the Commander?_ Linda asked.

117 responded with a single green light.

_Think you won her over?_

He responded with a yellow one that time, and then decided to clarify as he made his way over to his seat at a briefing table and picked up a PDA. He could see on their checklist that they'd already looked through about half of the operations from the morning, and he smiled behind his visor. Efficient as always. _I would not count on her as an ally just yet. But I think I have planted the seeds to make her a better commanding officer and gotten her to question the source of her information regarding Doctor Halsey. _They started reviewing the combat footage from Majestic, Kodiak, Obsidian, Epsilon, and Wolf Teams, when they'd been tasked to assault a fortified enemy position not unlike the ones that the Storm typically fortified themselves in. He and the rest of the Blue Team simulated the enemy, in this case, a group of Covenant Special Forces that had fortified the area and were using Promethean weaponry to defend it. It was a practice that the Chief and the others had noted some of the more high-ranking Sangheili operatives had adopted, using the much more powerful and versatile hard-light weaponry against S-IV forces.

_I see. Think she'll bite? _Kelly asked as she paused the combat feed for a moment. "Corporal Hoya exposes himself for too long when making an observational scan of the area, forgets to make use of UAV datalink." As the datafeed resumed, Corporal Hoya was given a rather painful reminder of this shortcoming when Linda put a shot from a Promethean binary rifle "through" him. The training sensors that had been placed on his armor registered the shot, calculated the energy behind the impact against the energy shields and the approximated durability of his armor, and confirmed a kill. The Mjolnir armor locked up and Hoya collapsed in a heap.

_That remains to be seen_. 117 said as he zoomed the camera feeds out and highlighted Obsidian Team's position. "Note, Obsidian is moving too closely together. Hidden behind cover for the moment, but the tight grouping makes them needlessly vulnerable to enemy heavy weapons fire, especially non-direct weaponry." _I've laid the trail. It's up to her to follow it. We can't push her too hard; she'll lash back and double-down. She has to realize the truth of something like this on her own. _

_That she was a political appointee likely put in charge because 019 wanted someone she could use as a lackey?_ 087 remarked. Even over the Morse Code, the Chief could sense the anger behind her "words."

_Easy, 087._ Linda blinked while pointing out that Majestic's sniper seemed to lose situational awareness when 104 deliberately exposed himself for a fraction of a second. Corporal Masden's mistake resulted in him suffering a similar fate to Hoya when he took the bait and exposed his position by prematurely firing his sniper rifle. Over the encrypted communication channels, they could hear Sergeant DeMarco swearing up a storm, which double in its intensity when the Master Chief himself successfully flanked Obsidian team's location and unleashed an incinerator cannon upon them.

_Easy?_ _One of our own tried to have our mother murdered in cold blood, fully well knowing that she hadn't done anything to warrant that level of response! Our own damned __sister__ betrayed us and you want me to take it easy?_ Kelly's flashes were to the point where they practically blurred together into one long, unceasing stream.

_It isn't easy to accept. _117 spoke up. _I do not know why Osman… betrayed us… like she did, but we cannot allow that to cloud our minds. We have to go about this carefully, or we'll risk retaliation before we're ready._ He paused the feed. "Sergeant Thorne demonstrates good spacing and proper use of covering fire to attempt to suppress me after Obsidian team is wiped out. Attempts to instruct Epsilon Team into proper defilade position to regroup and re-assess position and strategy. Combined with information on his activities while isolated on Requiem, the sergeant may have budding potential to be a squad leader. Investigate further." _ I've arranged a meeting with Lord Hood in three days. I am certain that I can get him to take action for Osman's breach of UNSC protocol. From there, we're going to have to plan something unexpected, something that Osman won't see coming. _

_What about Halsey herself? _Fred asked as he took down a note on Kodiak also having an issue with bunching too close together in the confusion. There had been no opportunity to exploit it, with them being on the other side of the battlefield from where the Chief had been, but it was still an issue that needed to be addressed.

_Nothing we really can do about that, at least for now_, the Chief responded. _The Arbiter's faction has a few spies among the Storm, we might want to see if Hood can call in a favor. Thel is smart enough to understand the implications of Jul having someone like that at his disposal, and if his agents can locate Halsey, we might be able to extract her with minimal complications. _

_Which brings us to the other point on our agenda… Crimson team_. Linda ventured.

_Agreed._ 117 said, as Kelly moved around through a series of canyons and managed to successfully flank Majestic team. A barrage of Promethean heavy-weapons fire eliminated the remaining members of the fireteam, with Demarco and Grant falling to hard-light rifle fire within moments, while Thorne managed to get around behind a large boulder. The rock afforded him an extra second or two of "life" before the light-rifle obliterated it with a single three shot burst. A pair of follow up bursts finished Thorne off. _The observations of them in the field today confirmed out suspicions… and it begs the question, who smuggled a group of S-III's onto this ship, and why? _

Watching Crimson in action, in real-time, especially when things had gotten desperate for them, had revealed something that the Fireteam had obviously been trying to conceal: they were much, much faster in terms of reflexes and reaction times than the rest of the Spartan Teams. Too fast, in fact, to be an S-IV. It had become readily obvious to the Master Chief and the other members of Blue Team that they'd received the same type of neuron and spinal cord implants and other chemical enhancements that he and his siblings had. It, and the obvious experience edge they would have as members of either Gamma or Delta company, would probably explain the reason as to why they were exponentially more combat effective than the other teams.

Looking at the personnel records, however, hadn't revealed anything. For Petty Officer Richards and her three other team members, it read like a text-book example of the other S-IV's: ODST recruits that had shown a much higher than average aptitude on their training scores and the like, and so had been reassigned to the special weapons division for S-IV training and augmentation. Anything further back than that was blacked out by ONI. Which meant that no one was supposed to realize that the "raw recruits" that had come onboard two months ago were in fact, a group of hyper-lethal cybernetic killing machines with body counts that likely exceeded the three digit range.

_Should we try taking a deeper look at the transfer records, see where they came from? _Fred ventured. _Lasky, Miller, and Palmer all seemed pretty blissfully ignorant of what their prize fireteam actually is. And we haven't had a chance to get a full readout of which medical officers have been checking out which teams. _John silently nodded at that. None of the official medical reports had noted any anomalies in the current batch of S-IV's. But any sort of invasive examination of Crimson Team would reveal that what was on the examining table was an S-III, rather than an S-IV. That meant that either someone was "tweaking" the medical exams and equipment, or some of the doctors were in on this little misdirection as well.

_Too risky_. Linda responded. _If Osman or anyone at ONI was responsible for that cover-up, we could tip our hand to them. And Roland's likely to be extra paranoid after Doctor Halsey commandeered him. I don't think he'll like us poking around the ship records or asking him such direct questions, and we can't risk him raising the alarm, intentionally or not. And that assumes he's not the one spoofing the records._

_It's another thing I'll have to bring to Hood's attention, _the Master Chief said, as the exercise came to its conclusion, with the S-IV's falling far short of their primary objectives. _For all we know, he could have been the one to station Crimson here. Or one of the other FLEETCOMM officers. A sort of failsafe in case the Infinity's command crew ever went rogue. Something that he could count upon in any situation to ensure that this ship remained under UNSC control. _

_A distinct possibility._ Linda mused as she loaded up the next combat feed. This one involved the S-IV teams trying to hold a position against an enemy led assault, with Blue Team playing the role of a small Covenant strike force armed with more "conventional" weaponry. _Which means there might be another group buried in the new Model-IV's that comes onboard. We'll have to keep an eye out for them. _

_Agreed._ 104 said.

_Then back to work. _The Master Chief signed, as they moved on to the next drill.

* * *

-00-

* * *

Well, there's Chapter Two down. A couple more to go, and then this little short story gets wrapped up, I think. I sincerely hope you all enjoyed it, and thank you so much for taking the time to read it.

Until next time, everyone, please, take care, and be safe.


	3. Chapter 3: Cloak and Daggers

Okay, so sorry for the delays and everything, everyone. Been busy lately with work and my mother having hip replacement surgery (she's fine, no worries, just got busy during that time of my life.)

I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this story, and I hope that you have both enjoyed it and that you feel I am continuing to provide some decent quality writing.

And thus, without further ado, I give you chapter three of Consequences of Revelation.

* * *

**Consequences of Revelation**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Cloak and Daggers**

Commander Sarah Palmer sighed as she nearly collapsed into her bunk. The aches and pains from the training that she'd been put through were being dulled by the regenerative meds that they'd pumped into her in the medical bay, and the painkillers were starting to take effect. The past twelve hours, really the past three days, had been brutal. Blue Team was relentless, drilling her and her S-IV's again and again and again. A part of her wondered how they did it. Drilling and testing group after group, rotating effortlessly and unceasingly between them, never tiring, never faltering. She was beginning to understand why some had initially believed that the S-II's were machines.

They were still schooling her groups, and even after three days, not one had succeeded in accomplishing a full mission. They were getting better, it seemed, though, getting farther before they were cut down, or holding a position longer before Blue Team succeeded in killing them all. Palmer closed her eyes and remembered the debriefings that she had attended afterwards, where Blue Team would take about ten or fifteen minutes to give a quick and dirty rundown of what the teams had done right, and what they'd done wrong, before handing them all data-disks with the recordings of the fight and instructing them to spend the next hour critiquing themselves. They would each write a report of their own performances and the performances their teammates, and then submit it to Blue Team, herself, and A.I. Roland. By then, it would be time for them to rotate back into the field for another wargame. The one thing that did stand out was Crimson's performance. She'd come to rely on them pretty heavily during the two months of operations on Requiem, but looking over the reports, the combat feeds, and everything else, it amazed her just how much _better_ those four were doing compared to their compatriots. Her tired mind drifted a little more and she found herself wondering briefly what made them so special, why they seemed to have the knack that so many of the other teams lacked. What made them different? What—

There was a loud beeping noise from her door, calling her back from her thoughts. Palmer opened her eyes as the fatigue clawed at her brain. Forcing her eyelids open was like trying to push open a blast door, and her body screamed at her to just let it all go and drift into the blissful oblivion of seven hours of uninterrupted rest. The door beeped again, and she slowly got out of her bunk and made her way towards the door, remembering the "chat" that she and the Chief had had about her always being available. She pressed a button next to the door, and an image popped up on the viewing screen on her wall. The security sensor outside showed her a picture of Captain Lasky, and as he went to press the doorbell, as it was joking called, once again, she unsealed the door to her room.

"Captain Lasky, Sir," she said, assuming attention as best she could in her current state, and giving him a salute.

"At ease, Commander Palmer," he said, stepping inside. She winced a bit as she heard him use her rank, rather than her first name, to identify her. Ever since her last operation on Requiem, things had been a bit… chilly between herself and the Captain.

She remembered the conversation that they'd had before she'd headed out, how he'd begged her not to go through with it. She blinked a couple of times and chewed on her lips. "What brings you to my quarters, Captain?"

"I wanted to see how you were holding up," he said. "I've seen some of the wargames recordings. The Chief and his teammates are putting you guys through the wringer."

"That he is," she muttered, _and making my S-IV's look like rookies on their first day of mock weapons training._ "But… if it helps us improve, I suppose it's worth it."

Lasky arched an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side slightly. "Have you and him had any… other conversations after the incident?"

"He's apologized, if that's what you mean. And he gave me a hell of a dressing down," she said, making her way back over to her bed and sitting down on it. Maybe it was a bit unprofessional, but at the moment, she just didn't care. She was exhausted, physically and mentally, and tomorrow would be more of the same. And before long, she knew, the training itinerary was going to shift for her.

The Chief had made that much clear. The war games would get larger, there would be multiple operations running at the same time, S-IV against S-IV, with Marine and ODST groups mixed in, each simulating the enemy in a massive full on war. Once that happened, she'd be pulled out of the direct fighting, and she and the other handlers would be thrust into a command situation where Murphy and his accompanying law would make it a point to be an extra-large pain in the ass.

"I see," Lasky nodded his head, and seemed to become a bit more relaxed. He remained standing, and moved over towards the far side of the wall.

His eyes focused on his colleague, watching the way she carried herself. There was a slump to her shoulders that he didn't remember being there. She was exhausted, that much he could tell. The circles under her eyes, the way that her hands shook just slightly. He'd been run ragged enough times at Corbulo Military Academy to know the signs of physical fatigue. But there was something else to it as well. A tiredness that had seeped into her soul. Something was eating at her, and he aimed to find out what. The confession that the Chief had given her a private "critique" hinted at it. The Chief… he was more than just a Spartan, more than a super-soldier. He had saved all of the human race at least twice now, three times if one counted him containing the Flood on Installation-04a. He was a symbol of the endurance and perseverance of Humanity as a whole, which had triumphed where all the odds had said they should have died. There probably wasn't a person alive who didn't revere him as some sort of living legend.

And she was more than just another admirer. She was an S-IV, an "inheritor" of his legacy; and more importantly, the one chosen to lead all the successors to the Spartan-II project. He'd seen the look on the Chief's face, when he'd depolarized his visor four days ago, the raw _hate_ that had burned in those eyes then. To know that the individual that you were chosen to follow in the footsteps of felt not pride or even comradeship towards you, but anger and disappointment; what must that have felt like? Tom's hand instinctively went to his neck, where he kept a second set of dogtags: Chyler's. He felt the bit of metal that was on there with them. It was small, iridescent blue, scarred pitted and charred black in few spots. The remnants of a fragment of a Lek'golo's armor. 117 had given it to him as a memento of their shared victory over the alien soldier. Even as a boy, barely seventeen years old, he'd understood that the Chief had been congratulating him, calling him a soldier, stating that in the Spartan's eyes, he was worthy.

"What's bothering you?" he asked. He tried to keep his voice professional sounding, a bit distant. He was still upset at Palmer's willingness to carry out Osman's assassination order, and he'd made that clear.

"Might want to ask what isn't. List'll be shorter," she mumbled, her hands coming to rest on her kneecaps as she leaned forward a bit. A disgusted sounding sigh left her a moment later, and she turned and looked up at Lasky. "Do you know… do you know what it's like… to know that you've failed? That you've screwed up?" She paused for a moment. "I don't mean a screw up like forgetting to put your dress uniform on right, or the realization that you've put your ranking pip on upside down. But you really, _genuinely_ dropped the ball?"

"More often that you think." He said with a nod of his head. "Look at the _Infinity_. She got crippled because of me." He got a funny look from the Commander, and he shook his head. "It was _my_ decision to allow that artifact onboard, Palmer. I should have had it put on one of the secondary ships, one of the frigates. If I had, the Infinity never would have gotten 'tied down' and we could have pursued Jul's fleet into Requiem itself. We might not have taken the bastard out, but we would have done a hell of a lot more damage to his operations. Hell, we might have been able to force him to abandon Requiem without destroying it. " That last part was pure optimistic conjecture on his part, but it was one the things that had nagged at the back of his mind ever since they'd escaped. The realization that so much potential information and technology that Requiem had at its disposal was gone forever.

"You had no way of knowing the artifact was going to do that," Palmer said, looking at him strangely.

"It doesn't change the fact that I made a mistake and ignored what should have been a basic safety protocol," Lasky said with a shrug. "They say hindsight's twenty-twenty. Maybe they're right. Thing to do is to learn from it, and then move on. In my case, that means taking more precautions whenever dealing with an object of Forerunner origin."

Palmer remained silent, and just continued to stare at him. He hadn't officially been reprimanded in his case, not yet at least. It was simply possible that Lord Hood was waiting for the proper time, or alternatively, the Admiral had yet to wrap his mind around the fact that a supposed Covenant Loyalist like Jul would actually go so far as to _destroy_ the "home" of one of his gods. That was beside the point at the moment, he thought to himself, and instead he refocused his attention on his colleague.

"We all made mistakes at Requiem, Commander. What's important is that we learn from them," her eyes narrowed a bit as she looked at him and she cocked her head to the side. Lasky continued, "I had to learn from my mistakes at the academy, and after thirty years in the field, I still make them." He paused and he chuckled softly. "For all the grief my old instructor gave me, there was a quote that she once told me, from Marshal Turenne. 'Show me a general who has made no mistakes, and you speak of a general who has seldom waged war.'"

He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. After a few more seconds silence, he crossed his arms and looked down at her. "So, where do you think you went wrong?" she looked up at him as he spoke, and he shook his head softly. "I want to help you, Commander, and believe me, I got chewed out at Corbulo more times than I can count. But I can't help you if I don't know what the problem is."

Sarah Palmer sighed softly and then nodded her head. "I…" she paused for a moment, and licked her lips, her eyes narrowing for a moment and Lasky swore he could practically hear the gears whirring away in her mind. "I guess…. At Requiem… I got cocky. We'd just beaten the Didact… a _Forerunner_. We chased him off on Requiem, and we flattened the Storm elements that we found there. And then, and then the opening battle when we came back," she reached up and ran her hands through her hair as she spoke, "the Infinity just ran over everything that was in its way. Nothing could stand against us. I… I thought we were invincible."

Lasky chuckled softly. "The UNSC has certainly been doing its best to play things up that way. 'We are the Giants now,' God, I cannot believe how much of a stuck-up ass I sounded like in that news cast." He blushed as he spoke. "I'll admit, I bought into our propaganda a bit too much… and maybe that's why I got a little sloppy myself. Maybe that's why I didn't stop to think that maybe Jul _let_ us take that artifact."

There was another moment of pregnant silence between the two of them, and Lasky let out a long sigh. "Well, that's one step. You've acknowledged that you overestimated yourself. But I know that can't be the only thing that the two of you talked about." He arched an eyebrow, and Palmer winced, she knew exactly what he meant, and it was clear that it was still a sore subject.

"We actually didn't talk about that all that much, he chewed me out for going in blind and underequipped for the job, said it was stupid of me to risk my life like that," Palmer said, shaking her head. "Aside from that, he just mentioned something about looking into where Doctor Halsey got her funding and oversight from."

Lasky nodded his head. "That's something I've been thinking about as well. The briefing that Osman gave us regarding Doctor Halsey painted her as some sort of modern Joseph Mengele," he said with a frown. "A monster. But Admiral Osman conveniently failed to mention that the Spartan-II's had any sort of feelings towards Doctor Halsey, let alone maternal ones." He shook his head again. A part of him was still having trouble wrapping his head around that. He truly did have to wonder if the Chief and the other members of Blue Team were brainwashed by the woman of if they were true, genuine feelings.

Unconsciously, his hand came up to his cheek, remembering the (surprisingly strong) backhand that the Doctor had given him when she learned out that the Chief had still been alive, had been on this very ship, and no one had thought to tell her. He remembered the anger burning in her old eyes, the vehemence in her voice. It was the wrath of a mother who had not been told that one of her sons was still alive. He remembered the voice of 117 when he'd been shown what had happened on Requiem. Perhaps there was some Stockholm Syndrome at work there, Lasky thought to himself, but at the very least, it was clear that there was _some_ amount of mutual affection between the two of them.

"That begs the question," he found himself staring up at the ceiling as he spoke. "If Osman lied to us about that… what else has she been keeping from us?" he got a look from Palmer, and a nod.

"A project like this…" there was that tantalizing hint of awakening, of realization, in her voice. "It went on for nearly forty years, Tom… there was… there's no way that ONI wouldn't have known… Parangorsky and the other high ranking individuals…" Palmer stood up from when she was sitting on her bed, her hands trembling slightly. "The augmentations… the first generation MJOLNIR suits… someone would have had to sign off on that, the procurement, the financing, the logistics involved with that…. No rogue scientist could ever do this on her own."

"And if they were the ones signing off on Halsey's projects and research, then were they the ones who originally came up with the project themselves?" Lasky finished for her. He had a sense of dread form in his stomach. Why did he have the sinking feeling that they had just gotten themselves wrapped up into something very, very nasty? He looked over at Sarah. Judging by the pallor of her skin, suddenly pale, he had a feeling she'd just had a similar thought. He rubbed his chin and looked over to the small projection port by the wall. He doubted that Roland could get access to any ONI files from here, those things would all be in a secure hard-link only system to prevent remote access, but there might be other ways to go about doing this. The Master Chief had dropped hints; perhaps a conversation with the rest of Blue Team might be in order.

That brought his mind around to another topic. Palmer would need to be there with him, for her own reasons. He cleared his throat a bit, and decided to probe a little further, he could even springboard from this train of thought, Lasky thought to himself.

"Aside from the… technical issues of your operation… are you starting to realize where else you might have messed up?" He ventured, raising an eyebrow.

Palmer sighed once again, and looked up at him. "Are you still trying to get me to admit that what I did was wrong?" She got a nod in response. The Commander looked down at her feet, and Lasky was reminded of a child being scolded. It was a look he knew all too well, remembering the myriad of times that April, Colonel Mehaffeny, or even General Black himself had chewed him out for a screw up he'd made. Was this how they'd felt, he wondered? A mixture of pity and disappointment, and that faint hope that somewhere, deep inside the "cadet's" mind, an understanding might be forming?

"I think…" she started to say, pausing and licking her lips for a moment. "I think I need to have a talk with Blue Team…I think I need to apologize to them."

"I'll be there with you," Lasky said, a smile slowly forming on his face.

* * *

The Master Chief strode briskly down the corridor towards his destination, a group of ODSTs on either side of him. He could feel his adrenaline spiking as the office of Lord Admiral Terrance Hood came closer and closer. It was a situation not too different from going into battle, he suspected. He knew that Hood would back him and support the actions that he had taken, but John was still uncertain as to how all of this was going to play out, and exactly what choice of punishment the High Commander of UNSC FLEETCOMM was going to deem appropriate for Serin Osman's actions. Blatant violations of UNSC wartime legal protocols, undermining FLEETCOMM's chain of command, driving the greatest mind of humanity into the arms of the enemy. It was a mess, as Cortana would have said.

Cortana… his thoughts drifted to her yet again. It had been eight months since her death. Since she'd sacrificed herself to save him… to save Humanity. He remembered the tremble in her voice and his as she'd said goodbye… disappearing forever. Even as it crossed his mind, the Spartan felt an ache, a tightness in his chest and a thickness in his throat.

As a Spartan, he was no stranger to death. He'd watched whole worlds get annihilated under the fury of a Covenant glassing operation, watching as billions of lives were snuffed out in an instant. He'd watched them bombard Reach as the _Pillar of Autumn_ fled, remembering that feeling of helplessness, of knowing that his family was down there, that his home was under attack… and there was nothing he could do but _watch_ them all die. True, some had survived all of those trials… but most had not. Of his siblings, there were now three left.

He could remember Johnson's last words… holding one of his best friends in his arms and watching one of the men who had been involved in the war since the first shots had been fired on Harvest, who had survived every nightmare and horror that the Covenant and the Flood had both thrown at him, only for him to die in the final minutes before victory. He'd actually been out to visit the man's tomb, on the edge of Mombasa, just outside the glassing zone. A monument to those who had died on the Ark had been erected within sight of the portal to the Forerunner artifact. To the Master Chief, it seemed appropriate, a fitting final "resting place" for one of the greatest soldiers he had ever had the privilege of knowing.

He had knelt there, running his hands along the tombstone. Underneath the picture that had been placed into the stone were a number of messages and titles left by the few friends that Johnson had that had that survived the war. "Friend." "Hero." "Leader." Among other, more personal words and phrases. When he'd left, there had been another phrase etched into the granite as well: "One of Us- S-117". It was the only thing he had to give to a man who had befriended him, been there at his side so often, and given so much for the cause. An ordinary individual who had performed extraordinary tasks again and again and again.

And yet, as used to death as he was, it never became any easier, the Master Chief thought. He could feel the pain welling up inside him again, despite his best efforts to squash it. Cortana had done so much for him… saved his life, stopped him from inadvertently wiping out all life in the galaxy, stopped the Flood… and _she,_ not him, had bested the Didact. When the renegade Forerunner had him dead to rights, the Spartan rendered helpless by his constraint field, she had come to his defense one final time. She'd bought their victory with her life. And would Humanity even know? Most of what had occurred on the Didact's vessel was still strictly classified. And even the bits that _had_ been declassified… would the history books ever truly capture how much Cortana had done for Humanity?

How much she had done for him? He'd heard civilians and some of the other UNSC personnel use the phrase "two side to the same coin" to describe a pair of entities before. It seemed strangely apt under the circumstances, like he'd left a part of himself behind on the Didact's vessel, like someone had ripped a part of him out and left a void where it had been.

He narrowed his gaze behind the visor of his helmet. He could not allow those thoughts to weigh him down, to drag him into the abyss of despair and wallowing in his own self-pity. Cortana wouldn't have wanted that. He was still Humanity's sword and shield. That was how he would honor her legacy. That was what he'd kept telling himself all these months. And yet… the pain was still there.

He paused as he stood in front of Hood's private office, and waited as one of the Helljumpers pressed the door-button. A camera focused on them, and a small A.I. hologram appeared out of a tank next to the door. It was an empty suit of armor, modeled after a medieval knight, with two flaming motes where its eyes should have been: Sentinel. The Master Chief had met him before. He was one of two personal A.I.s assigned to Admiral Hood to both help him manage things at FLEETCOMM and to ensure that local electronic attack against this section of UNSC headquarters was all but impossible.

"Welcome, Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy, Lord Hood has been expecting you," Sentinel said with a bow.

With that, the door opened, and the Master Chief stepped inside. Lord Hood looked up from the PDA that he was reading, and a rare smile came across the man's normally reserved and serious face.

"Master Chief," he said, getting up from his desk and walking over towards the S-II. The Spartan saluted, a gesture that Hood returned. A handshake followed as Hood motioned for all but two of the escorts to step outside.

The Master Chief looked back over at them and highlighted them with his HUD. Information and an abbreviated CSV on the two of them popped up. The first one was a Sergeant, a James "Rook" Dunn, and the second was a Commander by the name of Dare. An odd choice, he supposed, to have two individuals so far apart in rank standing as Lord Hood's personal bodyguards. They would have to have been cleared and vetted for the type of information that was going to be discussed at this little meeting, so he hoped that they would be able to continue keeping a secret.

Hood turned and headed back towards his desk, gesturing for the Spartan to follow.

"So, Master Chief, here to bring up me to speed, are you?" he asked, sitting down and motioning for 117 to take a seat in front of him.

The Spartan hesitated for a moment before he noticed the titanium construction and numerous reinforced crossweaves on the chair. Hood was clearly prepared to receive visitors of his… unique nature. The cyborg approached and took a seat as Admiral Hood tapped his hands together. As he did so, the Spartan looked Hood over, taking the time to examine the man in detail for the first time in years. The Master Chief noticed the lines around the other man's eyes. He was reminded again of the age of the veteran officer across from him. Hood was well into his second century of life, but his iron will and coolness under nearly any circumstance usually left him with an air of energy and power usually found in men half his age.

"We've both been busy, these past few months, Chief," Hood began, before letting out a deep sigh. "We've spoken before, but in all of this, I've never had the chance to just, to just take the time to say welcome back. And to let you know how good it is to have you back with us." There was a pause, and the faint smile returned to Hood's face. "It's good to have a friend back from the dead," The Admiral said softly. "I don't know if it's been made clear to you just how much of a boost your return was to the people of Earth and its reborn colonies. After everything that's been happening, it was something we desperately needed."

The Master Chief nodded in understanding. He'd seen the reports. The casualties that had been sustained during the war for Earth, and everything else. The UNSC fleet had been rebuilding rapidly, and frantically, almost manically, reinforcing and up-gunning the weapons of its warships. But still, even then… "We're still vulnerable… much more vulnerable than the UNSC has let the general public know…" 117 spoke softly.

"Yes…. The war hurt us, Chief, more than seven hundred worlds lost, hundreds of billions dead… Humanity is still licking its wounds, and will be for decades to come," Hood ran a hand across his scalp and sighed. "The survivors of the war want assurances, they want to be able to sleep at night knowing they will wake up tomorrow to a sky _not_ filled with alien ships preparing to glass the planet." His blue eyes bored into the Chief's visor. "And the best we can do at the moment is lie. If it wasn't for the Arbiter… I don't know what we would do." A bitter chuckle left Hood's lips, and the Spartan nodded to himself.

Thel Vadum was an honorable individual, he knew… but that didn't change the fact that while the Sangheili Arbiter was an ally of Humanity, and indirectly, its greatest shield against the Storm and the other Loyalist factions, that he had been one of the leading fleetmasters of the Covenant, and had been responsible for scouring dozens of worlds during the war. 117 spent a moment musing on the irony of Humanity being dependent upon one of the very individuals that had spent three decades blowing them to smithereens.

If there was some higher power in the universe, it had a very sick sense of humor.

The Spartan's mind jumped down a darker path. Jul would have known that. How vulnerable Humanity was… he would have understood the value that another intact shield world like Onyx would have to the UNSC and UEG. The technology that might have been recovered from the artificial planet… the things that it might have done for them. Jul had denied them a formidable asset, and the Master Chief was once again reminded that they were not dealing with a rank and file Covenant Cultist. 'Mdama was something else… something much more dangerous. And that made the fact that Catherine Halsey was in his clutches—with nowhere to go except to him—all the more chilling.

The Spartan straightened up a bit, steeling himself for the task that was ahead.

"On that note, Sir," He started to say, before Hood nodded his head and interrupted him.

"The new weapons you came for, yes," Hood said. "Song-Nim has made significant progress with our laser weaponry," before the Spartan could interrupt him the Admiral slid the Chief a small data-pad that had some weapon specifications on it.

The Master Chief took a look at the weapon in front of him, designated the Assault Pulse Rifle, Model One. It bore a resemblance to the MA rifle series, but with the ammo-counter and compass stripped away. Mounting rails covered the sides, top, and the bottom, and it had a bullpup configuration. It made sense he supposed, a more powerful weapon, but with a design that the ground troops would already be familiar with. Effective combat range was well over six times that of the MA rifle series though, more than a kilometer and a half. Recoil would be negligible; no bullet drop to account for, and at standard power, the battery looked to be able to hold the better part of three hundred shots. The specification file also had several pictures of the weapon 'in action': Human analogs—armored testing dummies made of synthetic flesh—that had been blown to pieces by single shots from the laser weapon, massive chunks of the dummies flash-vaporized and turned to ash.

The first group of Storm infantry that ran into a squad packing this type of weaponry was going to be in for a _very_ nasty surprise.

There were other weapons on the data file as well, close combat scatter weaponry, "smart" munitions, sniper class laser weaponry, as well as an improved, faster firing variant of the Spartan Laser. Good, good, the Master Chief thought to himself. The sooner he could get this back to Infinity and have the S-IV's start using these devices (and the marines and army troopers as well), the better.

"How many of these can we have loaded and ready to ship to the _Infinity_?" he asked, handing the PDA back over to Hood.

"I put them on notice to have some crates loaded up once I received word that you wanted to meet with me to discuss going ahead and up-arming the S-IV's," the Admiral stated. "Your Pelican will be loaded up with these by the time you get back to it."

"Thank you, Sir." The Master Chief said.

"You're welcome, Chief," Hood said. "But there's still the matter of making certain that the S-IV's are prepared to use these weapons properly. I trust that you and 058, 087, and 104 are bringing them up to speed as quickly as possible?"

"The S-IV's show promise, and Blue Team and I are drilling them daily, but-" he started to say before Hood smiled and waved him off with a gesture.

"But it's going to take at least eight or so weeks before they are ready?" He said and the Spartan noticed a slight teasing hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. 117's eyes narrowed behind his visor. He hadn't filed an official report yet, and in fact the report was still on his PDA awaiting transfer. Hood had gotten that information from an alternative source. His mind leapt to varying hypothesizes and theories, wondering who the Admiral's inside informant was. "The second batch of S-IV's is going to be arriving in four weeks, and even as good as you are, I do not think you can personally oversee the training of five hundred Spartans. Are there any emerging leaders and sub-commanders within the S-IV's? Those you would be comfortable with taking over some of the training duties?"

"There is one team, yes sir," The Master Chief said, quietly reaching into one of his supply pouches and producing the PDA with his assessment data on it. He turned it on and swiped through a few of the scenes, before bringing up Petty Officer Richards and her team.

"Ahh yes," Hood said, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. "I thought you might be leaning towards them. It seems you still have an eye for talent." 117 felt himself unconsciously tensing, feeling as though things were shifting, changing before him. His eyes looked over every feature of the Admiral's face. Every age line, every subtle shift in his muscles and his body language. The Spartan thought he saw a reaction, again the barest hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth, perhaps a slight bit of amusement in the Lord Admiral's face.

Alarm bells were practically ringing in the S-II's mind now. Hood's tone and demeanor seemed to suggest beyond a shadow of a doubt that he knew just _what _Crimson really was. But were they his inside source? Was he the one who had planted them there? Or was he merely "brought on board" regarding their insertion after the fact? Was there another group on the Infinity that was reporting to Hood? Theories and hypothesizes whirled in the Spartan's mind, forcing him to try and think about where things were headed, what was going on here. His augmented mind processed information faster than any normal Human ever could, but he still found himself suddenly longing for Cortana. As an A.I. She could have processed everything, run through the list of millions of possible theories in the time that it took the Spartan to blink, and presented the most likely possibilities before him.

"So, sounds though there might be a few field promotions in their future." The Admiral leaned back in his chair, the soft leather creaking a bit as he did so. "Hopefully some others will emerge as well. We are going to need capable field officers in the spec ops divisions." The smile faded from Hood's face, and the Master Chief noticed the lines around the other man's eyes. He was reminded again of the age of the veteran officer across from him.

"And on that note, Master Chief," Hood said, before his face grew a bit more grave. He reached under his desk and pressed a button. There was a slight hissing noise from the door, and he could see movement on his motion tracker as the two ODSTs looked around while his HUD flickered a bit. He recognized that noise, a secure room going into lockdown and ECM jamming equipment coming online. "Now… why don't you tell me the _real_ reason you're here."

117 raised his eyebrows a bit, and he was almost tempted to chuckle as he reached into a supply pouch, carefully pulled out a small device and placed it on the Admiral's desk to where it could be plainly seen. "I suppose this makes my precautions a bit unwarranted." He said.

_His_ jamming device was about the size of an A.I. data crystal, the most powerful one he had been able to…acquire that he'd been confident he could smuggle in. Suddenly it seemed so very superfluous. However, the device had no sooner been placed on the table than Sentinel and the other A.I., a Grecian looking warrior by the name of Ajax, both materialized in holotanks, and the Spartan could hear some of the internal defenses of the room sliding out from the ceiling, automated turrets fixing upon him. His motion tracker also showed movement behind him, and he could hear the two ODSTs moving to flank him. Hood simply shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"You'll have to forgive those four. They're a bit paranoid when it comes to my safety," he said.

"Being paranoid about your safety is our _job_, Admiral," Commander Dare spoke up with a note of irritation, and Hood held up a placating hand towards her.

"I know, Commander, I know, and I'm grateful to all of you," The Admiral said, before returning his gaze to the Chief. "Now then, I believe you were about to tell me what happened on Infinity that made you want to drop everything and come running to me."

The Spartan twisted his head slightly and Hood chuckled again. "Son, this could have all been arranged by email or an official request, the same with your report. And yet you took time off from an extremely pressing task to come and visit me in person. I cannot help but feel that somewhere, shit has hit the fan. So, let's hear it. Off the record."

The Master Chief nodded his head and took a deep breath. He felt surprisingly nervous all of a sudden. Then again, 117 supposed it wasn't every day that you bypassed official channels to come to the de facto head of Humanity's armed forces with evidence that the intelligence division of said armed forces was violating major UNSC protocols behind his back.

"Sir… are you aware of the location of Doctor Catherine Halsey?" he asked.

Hood paused for a moment. "Not precisely, no. My understanding was that she had been arrested for 'Theft of ONI property'. I assumed that was just something they used to soothe their pride and give them an official reason for her not to appear in public while they had her work on reverse engineering more Forerunner technology." He paused and then looked sharply into the Master Chief's visor. "Why?"

The Spartan responded by reaching up and removing one of the armor plates near the back of his helmet. He pulled out a small datachip, the black-box for his video recording system, and handed it over to the Admiral.

"I learned after coming onboard the Infinity that she had been transferred there and put under guard detail after the first incident with the artifact that Fireteam Crimson recovered. Her transfer was classified, only a select few individuals knew about her presence onboard the ship." the Master Chief said. "A series of complications ensued, culminating with Jul's Promethean forces teleporting onboard."

"Captain Lasky's report mentioned that Infinity had been boarded and attacked," Hood said with a frown.

"But did it mention was that Doctor Halsey was present during the attack and had been kidnapped by the Prometheans… and that her capture was the sole reason for the attack." 117 said. "Or that after that, Admiral Serin Osman, CIC of ONI, ordered Captain Lasky and Commander Palmer to locate and eliminate the doctor."

There was a few seconds of silence as he let the Admiral digest that bit of information. He could see confusion, disbelief, and myriad of other emotions flicker across Hood's face.

"His report made no mention of that. At all. And you're certain that the orders were to locate and eliminate, not recover, _eliminate,_ you are absolutely certain?" Hood asked, his brow furrowed. The Master Chief merely nodded towards the data chip that the Admiral was holding. Hood slid it into his PDA and pulled up the feed.

"I requested Captain Lasky's report from the shipboard A.I., Roland," the Spartan said. "It does mention the... full account of the attack. As for Admiral Osman's orders, move to time index nine-eight-seven, one-five-one-two." He said.

Hood did as requested, and a moment later, the Master Chief could hear his own voice coming out of the PDA as Hood placed it down on the table.

"Details. _Now,_ Captain_._" Hood pressed a button and the feed leaped up, projecting itself onto a display screen that was right behind his desk.

As the feed continued, 117 could hear Dare and the other ODST approaching from behind him, and he looked over his shoulder towards them. Their visors were polarized, so he couldn't see their faces, but their body language gave away some hints. As Commander Dare listened to Captain Lasky's 'confession', he could see a subtle twitch to her hands, as though she was trying to resist the urge to clench them into fists. Sergeant Dunn looked rather limp, almost as though a stiff breeze would send him tumbling to the ground.

The minutes passed, and the feed turned to Palmer's mission. The cyborg watched the Admiral closely as Palmer fired, missing the killshot due to the quirk of a dud SAP-HE round. The confrontation between Palmer and Thorne, and then the other confrontation between the Master Chief and the Commander. Finally, as the Master Chief stormed out of the room, Hood stopped the feed.

The silence was deafening as Hood leaned back in his chair, letting his forehead rest against his left hand. The Master Chief waited for a response as he noticed that some of the color seemed to have left the man's cheeks.

Finally, after nearly a minute, he spoke.

"Son… do you understand what this means?" he asked, looking up at the Spartan.

"Blue Team and I have reached the conclusion that if Doctor Halsey survived, she would have had no way of knowing that Majestic Team wasn't also there to assassinate her. She has no way of knowing that the order wasn't an official one. Which means that she has nowhere to go but straight into the arms of the enemy."

Hood nodded, his expression somber. "We… we have no idea how much Forerunner technology Jul has at his disposal. Neither does the Arbiter. We just know he has _some_. But if it's anything significant, Seekers, warships, god help us, Chief, if he knows the location of another Shield World or even some Onyx class Sentinels…" 117 felt a chill run down his spine at that last one. He'd never encountered one, but he knew of them from Blue Team's report. Sentinels which were powerful enough that a few dozen of them could annihilate a Covenant assault carrier in seconds, and apparently made in facilities that could produce thousands of them every hour. The thought of a swarm of those things descending on Earth…that chill suddenly intensified.

Hood rubbed his chin, his eyes narrowing. "I've got speak to the Arbiter immediately. He's got to be made aware of this and we've got to locate and extract Doctor Halsey before any more damage can be done."

"What about Admiral Osman?" 117 spoke up.

Hood's eyes narrowed further. "The Admiral has apparently altered official UNSC documents and AARs, ordered an unauthorized assassination of UNSC personnel, and has allowed a personal vendetta to cloud her judgment, and as a direct result, has deprived the UNSC of a potentially war-winning asset." He leaned back again. "I am aware of your… origins, Master Chief, and those of the other Spartan-IIs. Doctor Halsey has committed crimes for which she must answer, but she is not the only one who needs to, and the answer to those crimes is _not_ a summary execution." Hood leaned forward and rubbed his chin once more, and the Spartan swore that he could see the gears of his brain turning as he started to formulate a plan. "As for the Admiral, she's overstepped her bounds rather drastically here, and I can't help but wonder, if she's willing to pull stunts like that on something like this, what else might she be doing behind our backs? I think this should be taken as a sign that ONI has been allowed to have free reign to do what it wants for far too long. It's time for the Office of Naval Intelligence to start having the proper amount of oversight once again."

He looked up at the Master Chief and then over to the Commander. "Chief, what do you know about Section Zero?"

The Spartan thought back to all the code phrases and UNSC sub-divisions that he'd ever heard about, a frown on his face. It took him a moment, but he remembered coming across the code-phrase a few times when he and the other S-II's had been snooping around where they shouldn't have been during their training and upbringing.

"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes," 117 whispered softly. "Who watches the watchers? It's ONI's internal investigatory and policing force."

"It _was_," Hood said. "Most of their installations and personnel died during the war. But you are correct. It was long ago decided that with all the projects and top-secret materials that ONI was in charge of developing, that they should have some form of internal investigatory force, a shadow network within the organization that was dedicated to keeping it under control and its personnel from going rogue." The Admiral let out a sigh. "You would not believe the time I have had trying to put it back together."

"And it seems like we're about to get our first major test," Commander Dare muttered, and the Master Chief didn't miss the emphasis on the word 'our'.

He looked up at the Commander, then over to the Sergeant, and finally back at Admiral Hood. "How do we proceed? Do we know where Osman is?"

Hood nodded his head. "She's currently at _Ever Vigilant_, ONI's primary command and control station, just off Titan." He gestured towards Sentinel, and the A.I. brought up a display of the station.

The Master Chief examined the station quickly, his eyes darting back and forth over schematics and statistics. _Ever Vigilant_ was a fortress, it seemed. Four kilometers long, half that in width and thickness, and while lacked the devastating offensive firepower of an SMAC platform, it was covered in an array of other state of the art weapons and a few "normal" MAC turrets. Heavily armored externally and internally, with most of the important parts buried at the heart of it, ONI's CIC station was clearly designed to withstand traditional assault and attack for some time. Security personnel numbered in the hundreds, as well as automated defensive turrets and other, less savory methods of dealing with intrusion and attack, and it also had _Point of No Return_, the Admiral's personal flagship, on station to provide close support. And there was the distinct possibility of additional defenses that might not even be on the official schematics. That would be perfectly in character for the Office of Naval Intelligence, after all.

Commander Dare leaned in a bit, her grip on her weapon tight, her body language tense, reminding 117 of a predator waiting to pounce on its prey. "Then the next question is, how do we go in and get her out. That's not something that's going to be all that easy," she muttered, looking at the readouts with a frown. "Direct assault would be possible, but the casualties would be enormous."

"It also runs the risk of the Admiral escaping in the confusion," the Master Chief said quietly. "A station of this size is going to have evacuation shuttles, and there might be other Prowlers around besides the Admiral's personal craft." He let the words hang in the air, the implications of failure settling on everyone present.

"And if Osman decides she has nothing to lose and wants to make herself Queen Bitch of a new insurgency, she could do a lot of damage," Dare muttered, tapping her boot against the floor.

An idea was forming in the Spartan's mind, one that was so crazy, so unbelievable and audacious, that it might actually work. He over the plan again, and then a third time. It wasn't perfect, but then, no plan was. And if things went wrong, as they inevitably tended to do, it was the one that could be most easily adapted and have contingencies enacted. And most important of all, someone like Serin Osman would probably never see it coming.

"Damnit… it's not like we can just waltz up and knock on the front door." Dare hissed, taking a step back from the desk.

"Why not?" 117 spoke up. For a moment he felt every eye in the room, electronic and organic fall on him. He looked up at Hood, and then over at Dare. "_Ever Vigilant_ receives inspections, correct? To make certain that they're complying with UNSC maintenance and battle-readiness protocols? And to monitor the Hugarok that are on the station?"

"Yes, they do," Hood nodded slowly as he spoke, and the Spartan could see that he was starting to understand.

* * *

The Master Chief made his way back to his Pelican, his mind going over the details of what they had discussed. Two hours had passed since he'd walked into Hood's office, and now it was time to get back to the Infinity for the next step of the plan. He made his way to the hangar bay where his bird was docked. The pilot already had the engines warmed up and ready, something that the Spartan was grateful for, as he quickly moved up the ramp. There was, however, something that surprised him: the cargo in the back. There were crates, from the floor to the ceiling, strapped in and secured. His armor ran a scan over the contents, and was surprised to find scores, hundreds, actually, of the new laser weapons. He'd expected a few models, no more than a dozen to be used one or two squads at a time until they were used to the weapons. This? This was enough firepower to turn a hab-block into a smoldering ruin.

There was a small PDA on top of one of the crates, and he moved to pick it up. It was completely blank, save for a single message: "Thought you might need all of these. Consider it insurance. –H"

He nodded to himself and wiped the PDA clean, before closing the hatch behind him and opening up a radio line to the pilot. "Take us out."

As the ship began to rise into the air his hand fell down to something else, a small package that Hood had given him. Another piece of "insurance". He frowned behind his helmet, but there was no sense putting this off any longer. He would be going into the proverbial dragon's lair soon and he'd be a fool not to use every tool that he had available. And, he reminded himself, Cortana wouldn't want him deliberately crippling himself for the sake of her memory.

He pulled out the A.I. datachip, and slipped it into the access port on his helmet. The armored port slipped down to protect the chip, and he felt a spike of pain, and for the first time in months, a cool, liquid-like sensation in his brain.

"I was wondering when you would finally get around to putting me in." Sentinel said over his internal speakers.

* * *

Sarah chewed on her lip as she found herself making her way down to the inner decks of the Infinity. Lasky was there at her side as they made their way towards the briefing room that had become the _de facto_ headquarters for Blue Team while they trained the S-IV's.

Her left hand kept twitching and her temple throbbed slightly as she made a turn down another corridor, her mind racing to try and think of how to best handle this situation. She hadn't forgotten the Chief's reaction to finding out about her mission, and now she would be addressing _four _Spartan-IIs, and hoping against hope that in the four days since they'd come onboard the Infinity that they'd had a chance to calm down. She found it disturbingly akin to putting herself into an enclosure with a quartet of wild tigers while consciously aware of how much effort said cats had to take _not_ to see her as a meal. At least… at least Tom was with her, she thought distantly. Perhaps it was the subconscious hope that his presence might make the S-II reaction to her presence more subdued, perhaps it was the simple fact that she was going to have a friend at her side during this moment of her life. All she knew was that she was grateful that he was here. She came to a stop in front of the door to the briefing room and, knowing what was waiting for her on the other side, let out a short, quick breath.

"Try to look at it this way," Lasky said as he placed a hand on her shoulder, and she looked over towards him. "The S-II's are good at reading people, and they're pragmatic. If you're sincere, they're likely going to accept it. As long as there's no more trouble in the future, they'll probably let bygones be bygones." He chuckled and let a smile come to his face.

"Then it's back to business as usual," Palmer said quietly, a note of resignation in her voice.

Lasky arched an eyebrow. "I would have thought that you'd be a bit more enthusiastic about getting to train under a bunch of living legends. I thought that's what you aspired to."

Palmer let out a snort. "Hell, Captain, when I was younger, I didn't dream of being a soldier, I wanted to be the next Norman Borlaug."

Lasky paused for a moment, his face a study of confusion. "Who?"

"Agricultural scientist from back in the twentieth," she said, looking down at him. "Saved the better part of a billion people by developing new crop growing methods and ways to engineer better crops." Her expression darkened for a moment and she sighed. "Then Reach fell… the rest is history." She shook her head, ignoring the baffled look on her superior's face. She supposed it was to be expected, it wasn't as though she'd ever expressed a reluctance towards being a soldier before. Her eyes fell back on the door. Time to get this over with. Reminiscing about the past and "what might have beens" wasn't going to get her anywhere. She reached out and opened the door to the briefing room.

She stopped short as she stepped through the door and three sets of helmets were suddenly gazing at her. The trio of S-II's were reviewing yet another group's performance, but that wasn't at all surprising. What _was_ surprising was that there was only three of them. The Master Chief was nowhere to be seen, and she felt a bit of dread. If he wasn't here, well… no backing out now. She'd just have to do this and then do a repeat later.

The three S-II's paused the feed they were watching and critiquing, and with an uncanny unity of action, rose from their seats and saluted the Captain as he came in. Lasky returned the gesture with a smile.

"Spartans, where's the Master Chief?" he asked.

"Busy." 104 said, before, to the surprise of the Commander, he extended his hand towards the Captain, and the two shook. "He extends his apologies Captain, but he wanted us to let you know he'd be back shortly."

Though their faces were covered, Sarah could detect a certain… brusqueness to their actions. It wasn't hostility towards Lasky, indeed, they seemed quite polite and respectful, but there was something about their body language that seemed to suggest that for all the respect they held for the Captain, they would rather he not be right here at this moment.

They turned towards her next, and she could feel the weight of the three gazes upon her as she clasped her hands behind her back. She was off duty, and as such wasn't wearing her armor. She was vulnerable, at their mercy, meeting them on terms where they held all the cards. 104 cocked his head to the side just slightly, and Sarah had to resist the urge to suddenly fidget.

"Is it possible you could call him up here?" Lasky ventured. "I'd like him to be here for this."

"I'm afraid not, Captain," 104 said. Lasky said nothing and his face remained neutral, but Commander Palmer suspected that he was rather confused. Not being able to be called up on a direct request from the CO of the UNSC flagship suggested that the Chief wasn't actually _on_ the Infinity at all. In which case, the poignant questions became: how did he get off this ship without anyone, even Roland, knowing about it, and where had he gone?

"Is there something you need to tell us, Captain?" the voice of 058 cut into the Commander's thoughts, and forced her to remember why she was here. She looked back up at the three S-II's, and opened her mouth to speak.

"I owe all of you an apology…"

Off to the side, Captain Tom Lasky smiled.

* * *

Okay, and that's it for chapter three. Hope it was enjoyable for everyone, and once again, thank you all so much for taking the time to read it. Feedback, especially constructive criticism, is greatly appreciated. I'm going to try and wrap everything up in the next chapter, so that one might be a bit larger than this one. I only hope I can conclude this story on a strong, climactic note. Thanks again everyone, and until next time, please stay safe.


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